Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost
by Theta-16
Summary: Hero. Villain. Warrior. Monster. Lone Wanderer. He's been called many things by many people for many reasons. However, after a fateful incident sends him to Remnant, maybe he'll be called Jaune again. Whatever the name, he'll need to take hold of the future, survive the present and confront the past.
1. Chapter 1

**AN:**

 **Hooray! First fic! Welcome one and all, to my fan creation inspired by RWBY and Fallout. More specifically, Fallout 3 (mostly).**

 **This story came to me as I read some other fics in this category, and once I decided to write it, I went all out. I already played through Fallout 3 once, but I decided to do so again to prepare for this fic, roleplaying the Lone Wanderer as I envisioned him for the story. It was a ton of fun going through things as I believe Jaune would, and I invested a little over a hundred hours in the playthrough. I played vanilla Fallout 3 with no mods and all the DLC on the Very Hard difficulty, completing the main campaign and then some, reaching level 30 and visiting just about every map marker. The result is an extremely detailed backstory for our Lone Wanderer, as I actively took notes about his experiences and development. This Jaune is directly based off of the in-game character that I played, with his stats and inventory coming straight from the game and being translated to RWBY.**

 **However, he does come from an AU version of fallout 3; my playthrough served as inspiration for this story, which includes a lot of original thought. Although Fallout 3's plot has generally stayed the same, some non-canon events and a few OC's have had a great effect on our hero's development, one OC in particular. This same OC is largely responsible for most the AU and changes to the game's plot, but I promise that the main plot points of Fallout 3 have remained the same. How it all happened will be revealed in due time, as the events of Fallout 3 actually constitute Jaune's backstory in relation to this fic.**

 **Aside from changes for the sake of plot, I also made some changes to try and make sense of things and better mesh Fallout and RWBY. These are largely just mechanical changes. I'll list some of them here: the pip-boy is not a magical storage device and Jaune must actually carry all of his own stuff, stimpaks are much more rare and of varying quality, stimpaks aren't as quite as miraculous as they are in-game, Jaune left vault 101 at the age of 16 and is 17 at the start of this fic.**

 **Other aspects of Fallout 3 will be explained in the story, including the Lone Wanderer's stats. Rest assured, his abilities in this fic will reflect all of the skills, perks and SPECIAL attributes that the in-game character had. I did my best to interpret Jaune's Fallout abilities in terms of realistic applications and how those will carry over to Remnant. I'm not gonna tell you exactly what his stats are, because that'd just ruin the fun! I'll say that I made decisions I wouldn't have made otherwise in terms of stats just for the sake of roleplaying as Jaune. I'll also drop details and** **references throughout the story that should help you figure out what his stats are. I'll give you one meta hint right now, but don't expect any more: I failed far more speech checks than I ever succeeded, in true Jaune fashion.**

 **This fic will have a good bit of violence and other adult themes in it, but I think of this as more of a romance than anything else. The pairing will be revealed in due time.**

 **Also, even though this Jaune is essentially the same person at heart, expect some big differences from canon due to his experiences.**

 **Alright, let's get this show on the road!**

* * *

There was pain, and there was darkness, and there was nothing else.

"Why hello there," it said. Correction: there _had_ been nothing else. Now there was something terrible. "I must say, you've proven to be quite the persistent creature, hounding me incessantly. You filthy animal. I can only imagine how twisted your genes are, you radiation-addled abomination. Any good, pure human would have long ago recognized your actions as despicable. To be fair, you look normal enough from the outside. Well... you look human. Ugly, but human. It must be on the inside. I wonder what it looks like in there. Do you have two hearts? Three lungs? Three stomachs? Well, I think I'll cut in and find out. Don't worry, I'm well practiced. I've performed plenty of vivisections before. You've seen the logs."

He had, and that's why the Lone Wander began to struggle.

The figure chuckled, a light, airy sound that rang warm and carefree. Broad shoulders shook slightly as it did so, hidden underneath a crisp officer's uniform. The monster stood in front of him, the only other occupant of this pitch-black space where Wanderer was now trapped. He could not spit and curse as he wished, for there was a thick wad of cloth stuffed in his mouth. He could not escape, for rope was bound tightly around his arms and legs. He was strung up by his hands like a carcass in a butcher's shop, and the butcher was about to go to work.

A warm smile filled with perfectly white teeth only got wider as the monster in front of him perused a set of knives on a table that seemed to have come from nowhere. Blue eyes passed over their sharp edges, the cold irises sparkling with excitement. Their frigidity was the only evidence of the thing's true nature. The eyes are the window to the soul after all.

After an agonizing eternity, the monster turned back to him, having finally selected a long, tapered scalpel. "I wonder what you'll look like," it said. That voice. It was infuriating, that something so awful could speak so softly, charismatically.

The Lone Wanderer pulled as hard as he could, but the ropes only creaked ever so slightly, holding firm. Any hope for escape bled away as the blade gently came to rest on his cheek.

"Now, I'd hate for you to go through any unnecessary danger through this, so I'm going to withhold anesthesia. Some people can have adverse reactions to such chemicals, so you'll just have to bite down and try to ignore it. I hope you appreciate all the care I'm putting into this." The monster leaned closer, and he could feel his breath against his face, faintly cool, smelling slightly of mint. Professional. Cold. Sterile.

"I'm going to do terrible things to you. I really am. I am going to make you suffer for all that you've done, for all that you've ruined. You've destroyed order and civility, breeding only anarchy and chaos." It roughly grabbed the Wanderer's chin and yanked him so that it could glare directly into his eyes, stabbing straight into him with that cruel gaze. Its grip was firm, yet restrained; the Wanderer knew full well that it could easily crush his jaw with that grasp. "You doomed humanity," it said, cold blue eyes becoming dangerously hot as rage boiled just behind them. Nevertheless, that friendly smile remained, ever deceptive.

"You ruined everything," it said, "You ruined me." The scalpel pressed against the Wanderer's cheek, drawing a dribble of blood. "I will do terrible things to you," it repeated. "Well… I will when I find you."

What?

"But for now, I think it's best if you wake up."

What!?

The monster reared back the scalpel. The blade gleamed dully, now coated in a thin, dark sheen of blood. That dark glimmer promised suffering, and it was a promise to be kept, as the scalpel shot forward, headed straight for the Wanderer's eyes. It was all he could do to close them and wait for the pain…

He woke with a jolt.

Surprise. Confusion. Relief. All in the order.

A nightmare, nothing more than a nightmare. The Lone Wanderer let out a deep sigh, then tried to pick himself up off the ground, shortly finding he could do no such thing. In fact, he was completely trapped. Experimental attempts to move his limbs proved fruitless, and he couldn't even turn his head. Not only that, but he was shivering in the cold. Why was he cold? Well, he was soaked with cold water. Wait, why was he soaked with cold water? He could feel it sloshing around him, lapping at the goose bumps on his skin, probably giving him a nice dose of radiation too.

So he was cold, wet, irradiated, trapped and it was stuffy, wherever he was. His breath pooled around him, coming out faster as he began to panic. No. No that wouldn't do, just calm down.

Breath deep. Hold. Release.

Okay, better. Now where the Hell was he? The Wanderer raked his memory. The last things he could recall was a great flash of light; yes, that strange lab had started spewing lightning, tearing through the compound. Before that, he'd... he'd killed it. Yes, he'd certainly killed it. The mini-nuke had landed right at the things feet, and a quick glance back had shown nothing but rubble in the air, intermingled with smoke and radioactive fire. That bastard would only ever appear again in his dreams, like it had just now. It was dead, finally.

The thought put an incredible grin on his face.

The smile quickly died, however, as there was no time for elation right now, and, remembering his prior situation, the Wanderer now knew exactly what had happened. His power armor must have become disabled. A strike of lightning had shot out straight towards him, obviously ruining his suit and likely trapping him under some rubble if he hadn't yet been rescued. How long had he been out? Judging from just how sore his body was, it may have been a while. The lightning and the fall had definitely done a number on him.

Wait, fall?

Yes, yes a fall. He recalled it now. He must have knocked his head, for the memory had been quite hazy. Yes there had been that flash of light, but also a subsequent feeling of weightlessness, of wind soaring past him as he dropped through the air. The lightning must have launched him up and into the sky... but they'd been underground, hadn't they? Yes, they'd been pretty deep into compound. Well then, whatever energy he'd been hit with must have blown a hole right back up to the surface or through a large room. Sheesh, thank God for power armor.

Anyways, less thought, more action.

Alright, now try and recall the lessons he'd been taught on power armor. It'd been awhile since he'd first gone through training for it, and he'd never used it much; the last time worn it had been at the Air Force Base, and only a few times before. In order to keep a working suit and the facilities to maintain it, he'd need to have the necessary garage and materials, and that would only really be available if he was a member of the brotherhood, or at least an honorary knight, like he used to be. Used to be.

They'd given him a crash course along with the suit when he agreed to go on this mission with them, for being inexperienced with power armor was still a lot better than not using it at all, especially when facing off against enemies who _would_ be walking around in the humanoid tanks; who knows whether or not he could've survived that lightning strike without it. At least the manual and directions given to him by the brotherhood engineers had been succinct and effective. He recalled it now, that every suit of power armor was equipped with an emergency opening system which would immediately pop the suit open, non-reliant on electricity, specifically designed for situations like this. Perfect... now where was it? He'd had to use it back at the Air Force Base, but, seriously, where was it? Somewhere in the right hand? No, somewhere in the left hand? Was that it? It was!

With a hiss and a squeal, the suit around him unlocked and unhinged itself, allowing the Lone Wanderer to scramble out. He stood up and experimentally moved his limbs, which all thankfully seemed to be in working order. He hadn't been trapped under any rubble or such, but then why hadn't the brothers come to... get... him...

Oh, that was why.

He was standing on the shore of the ocean, and it was incredible. Since when had the ocean been blue? Wait, since when had the _sky_ been blue!? A-and those clouds were pure white! Scenes like this didn't exist outside of picture books!

The sun was shining incredibly bright, still fairly low on the horizon and drifting lazily upwards. Its warmth fell gently on his skin as he looked, slack-jawed, to the horizon. Pure blue, as far as the eyes could see, with only the glittering sun and a few peaceful, wispy clouds breaking the color gradient. The Lone Wanderer's mind was blank for nearly a full minute, soaking in the incredibly sight, before a thought finally penetrated his numbness.

"We weren't anywhere near the sea."

He and the brothers had trekked inland, and there certainly hadn't been a body of water this large anywhere near them. Alright, this was strange. Many, many things in the Wasteland could easily be called strange, but waking up to a view that simply shouldn't exist? He looked around him, seeing that the beach didn't have a speck of sand; grey rocks dominated the coast as far as he could see, and a sheer cliff not twenty yards away from the water blocked any view of what was further inland. However, something certainly caught his eye.

"A lighthouse, huh?" he said. A large metal tower arose from the beach and hugged the cliff as it rose vertically, striking upwards and past the precipice edge until it loomed at least two-hundred feet high. At the very top, the tower was left open to the air, and what seemed to be some sort of large strobe-light rested under a pointed roof. It instantly brought back images of Point Lookout, not just because of what the structure was, but the way it looked.

It was a dilapidated mess. The paint had peeled off almost completely, leaving only a few forlorn streaks of white to shine dull amidst a heavy coating of rust, the color of curdled blood. The light at the top had shattered and seemed obviously inoperable. The door to the beach was lying flat on the ground, having long since fallen off of its hinges.

It was a great relic of some past time, left to rot.

"Finally, something familiar," the Lone Wanderer muttered.

Why would they need a lighthouse out here anyway? Weren't these things supposed to warn off any incoming ships? He stared back out across the ocean, which appeared to be serene and clear, but as he squinted and looked closer, he was just able to perceive shadows under the gentle waves. Rocks, large and sharp, extended far out from the coast, spelling disaster for anything that sailed too close.

It seemed that things here weren't quite as nice as they appeared.

The Lone Wanderer looked back up to the tower. The top extended well past the cliff and would give him a great way to see further inland, and maybe there'd even be another door further up for him to reach the top of the cliffs. He looked over at the almost perfectly vertical wall of sheer rock that jutted up abruptly from the coast. Yeah, no way he'd be climbing that. Lighthouse it is.

First, however, some scavenging was in order. He crouched over his power armor and tried to drag it out of the ocean. With a few minutes as well as some, panting, heaving and frustration, he was able to wrench most of it out of the water so that he could at least pick apart what was useful. He pulled off the large pack which had previously been fastened to the armor's back; he ripped free Crocea Mors; he took the utility belt and its contents; he unlatched his pip-boy; he salvaged both Metal Blaster and Enclave's Bane, or what was left of them.

The Wanderer grit his teeth. The unique laser rifle and tesla cannon were both destroyed, likely crushed under the weight of his armor when he fell. Together, they were worth small fortune, but that wasn't what really made him mad. Metal Blaster had been with him for so long, and Enclave's Bane was the first of its kind, given to him once again by the Brotherhood for this particular mission after first serving him at the Air Force Base, the last time he saw any of them…

He shook his head. Being sentimental wouldn't help, especially since he could probably repair both of them once he got back to the Citadel, not that he'd be staying for long. If he needed to, he could swing by his safe house to pick up some different weapons, but it'd still feel unnatural without Metal Blaster.

At least it seemed that everything left in his duffle bag had made it, safe within the thick, waterproof, military-grade sack, and the pip-boy as well as Crocea Mors were both hardy pieces of advanced machinery that wouldn't let some water put them down.

An experimental taste of said water found that it was definitely salty, and didn't that raise a few questions? Either he was by the ocean, which was now inexplicably clean, or he'd been blown by a massive lake which had been polluted by loads of salt, yet still seemed to be inexplicably clean.

Curse this weird new place and its inexplicable cleanliness! Curse its saltiness too! It was all so damn confusing!

Enough of this, back to reality already! Alright, how many rads had he gained from the water? Just reboot the pip-boy, set it on the wrist, let it shoot a needle into him and test his blood and... nothing. He'd gained no rads whatsoever. The Wanderer's brow furrowed. He was only at 25 rads, a number he remembered being comfortable with when he'd checked it yesterday. He glanced back at the water. Was it really free of radiation? He certainly didn't feel sick, and by now, he was an expert at picking up on the symptoms of radiation poisoning, both in himself and others. Where the Hell was he?

To answer the question, he checked the pip-boy's map function. It connected to old pre-war satellites to provide a real time GPS for him, so certainly this would be able to…

Nothing. The map screen was completely blank. Alright, there must be a perfectly reasonable explanation for this. Probably just lost the signal to the satellite, or got damaged by the water? Uhm… yes, something like that. God, this was really getting weird.

Shaking his head, the Wanderer started cleaning out his utility belt. The MF cells were still good, designed to be waterproof, but with Metal Blaster decommissioned, they'd be worth little for now. The same went for the electron charge packs. Four stimpaks, all produced by the Brotherhood, much better than most that you'd find in the wasteland. Two shots of Med-X. A few bobby pins. Occam's Razor. Two frag grenades, but both hand-crafted and neither waterproof. However, the anti-armor plasma mine which he'd rigged as a grenade was still in working order. He also still had three of his little trump cards, only using one of them in the previous battle. Those would certainly come in handy.

His military duffle bag had everything else he'd need. Strapped to it was a canteen of aqua pura, which he took a greedy swig from before rooting through the bag's contents. More MF cells and ECP's. A few repair tools. A light blanket. A nylon, rainproof poncho that could also double for a small tent. A monocular. His Magnum, along with some rounds for it. Several MRE packs. The Gamma Shield Armor. The Filtration Helmet. A single bottle of Nuka-Cola. Two bags of Radaway. His food purifier. Two doses of Rad-X. A Punga Fruit. A dose of Buffout. A pack of mentats. Spare parts for Metal Blaster and Enclave's Bane, though not nearly enough to fix them in their current state. A pack of cigarettes. A lighter. A flask of moonshine. The only three photos that mattered to him.

He strapped on the armor, the familiar weight pulling down sturdily, and put what he salvaged back into the bag. For now, he hitched the helmet to the bag, while fitting the magnum to the right side of his hip and Crocea Mors to the left. He strapped the bag onto his back, and although this much equipment was best carried with power armor, he could haul it without difficulty. He looked disdainfully back at his power armor, ruined. He'd just have to tell the brotherhood about it once he reconvened with them; they'd be mad, but they could probably still salvage it.

He scowled and turned away, gazing up at the lighthouse before him. It looked fit to tumble over and fall into the sea at any moment, but hopefully he'd still be able to get to the top. It seemed to be the only easy way off the beach, not to mention the best way to get a grip of his surroundings.

He marched up to and inside of the lighthouse. He grimaced at the interior, which was covered in rust and mold. The building had been picked clean and left to rot, just like everything else in the wasteland. Nothing unfamiliar. There was a rickety-looking metal staircase that circled all the way to the top, which he eyed warily, but took a deep breath and approached nonetheless.

It creaked ominously as he scaled higher, but at least it held. He tested each step laboriously, making sure to keep a good grip on the side railing, which seemed sturdy enough. Hopefully.

Sheesh, what a fantastic start to this new adventure. Wake up on a beach with a load of your equipment junked, then make your way up and unstable tower. At least it might be safer than trying to swim through the ocean filled with rocks and who-knows-what kind of monsters, weighed down by a load of gear. What was better, dropping or drowning?

The Lone Wanderer looked down. He'd now reached a height which could very well be lethal. He'd never had a problem with heights, but he did have a slight problem with dying. He needed to connect with the Brotherhood and see that bastard's mangled, burnt corpse, and he couldn't do that if he was dead.

After that, it wouldn't matter if he dropped or drowned. He couldn't care less.

He advanced past an upper platform which had another door (this one intact) that probably led out to the lip of the cliff. Still, he'd need a good view to find out where the Hell he was. He'd traveled with the Brotherhood through a combination of tunnel systems and overland roads, following rail-lines all the way south to Richmond. They'd not been near the ocean, not at all.

And why the Hell was the ocean blue? Why was the sky blue? Why hadn't the water been irradiated? Had he somehow been blasted to a 'clean' part of the coast? Impossible, since they'd still been nowhere near water. Even if they had been, it wouldn't explain all of the blue. Nothing was that sort of blue! There wasn't even a single trace of smog in the sky, just nice, pure white clouds. Every cloud back in the wasteland looked malicious, and he always made sure to periodically look up at the sky to ensure a storm wasn't coming. The sky here, however, was... it was pleasa-

The Wanderer's thinking was interrupted when the step beneath him creaked and bent, making him nearly slip and fall off the stairs. He furrowed his brow. Alright, enough with the speculation, back to the 'not dying'. That was his life in a nutshell nowadays. Not dying. Nothing more and nothing less.

It was a hasty and quick affair, trudging the rest of the way up the lighthouse. Each step creaked ominously, but most seemed fairly trustworthy, and he'd long since gotten used to the sound of rusted metal cracking underfoot. It was just another part of the cacophony of decay that dominated the wasteland. Alongside it stood such sounds as distant gunfire, not-so-distant gunfire, explosions, bestial roars, bloodcurdling screeching and anguished cries. In all honesty, he was more at home in the neglected lighthouse than he had been on the beautiful beach. Here was familiarity. The sound, the look and even the immediate possibility of death embraced him like an old friend.

He finally reached the top of the final landing, which had only a short ladder that ascended to the ceiling, leading to a hatch. The Wanderer quickly scaled the rickety rungs and pushed open the hatch, hauling himself up and into the air. In front of him rested the lighthouse's great bulb, now shattered. Cobwebs had long since taken the place of light up here.

He got up to his feet and faced out at the ocean. Blue... so much blue. It was bizarre, honestly. Incredibly so. The sky hadn't been blue in hundreds of years, neither had the ocean. However, this wasn't the time for sightseeing, best to just turn around and try to get a sense of the surroundings.

So he did just that, and every muscle in his body froze.

The green.

It was because of the green that every fiber of his being was rendered numb.

It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Green... so much of it. An impossible amount, but it was there. Trees stretched out as far as he could see, all healthy and strong, banded together in a vast crowd of natural vitality. Pressed against one another, their leaves spread up and around to mesh together in a great canopy that drank in the sunlight and reflected back a dull emerald glow, soft and alive. Alive. There was life. So much of it. Nothing, nothing he'd ever seen could ever compare to this... this... _forest_. A forest! An honest to goodness forest! This was insane! He'd been startled and astounded by Oasis, and he had ignorantly proclaimed that paltry _garden_ to be a _forest!_ Ridiculous!

The trees here stretched out all the way to the horizon, sloping upwards into a short range of mountains in the distance that rose from greenery, lifting the fauna up higher into the sky to let the leaves reach out and mingle with the wispy clouds. No smog. No destroyed buildings. No echoes of distant gunfire or explosions. No screams of the dying or the damned.

The Lone Wanderer needed to reach out and grasp the railing, caring not if it would hold his weight. He just needed something, anything, to help him stay up on his own two feet, for his legs had become too shaky to be trusted on their own. His throat constricted painfully. His vision blurred as tears threatened to well up. He'd never thought he could see something like this.

It was incredible!

It was awe-inspiring!

It was unreal!

It... it was unreal.

There was no way this could be true. The Lone Wanderer shook his head. No, he had to be asleep, certainly. There was simply no way he'd somehow gotten blown up and landed in some mysterious place that actually seemed to be alive. It would require a herculean effort involving incredible resources, labor and scientific acumen to pull of something like this. His father and a team of scientists had barely managed to purify the basin, let alone an entire countryside. Then again, perhaps this was a place like Oasis, just bigger?

The thought of having to deal with another Harold made him sour.

No, there was simply no way a place like this could exist. Just look at the sky! Even if you managed to purify the land, then the atmosphere would still be polluted. It wasn't like you could just shoot a bunch of GECKS into the clouds!

Or could you? How would he know? He didn't have the slightest idea about how the atmosphere worked, or how GECKS worked or really how anything that his father or Li ever did worked. Maybe... maybe this was real? Maybe someone somewhere had managed to do something incredible?

He shook his head again. No, that was just wishful thinking. There was no way this was real. If it was, then surely some caravan would've come across it at some point and spread the word. Certainly, he and the Knights would have seen it. And from here, he couldn't see the ruins of Richmond anywhere, and they'd been in the middle of the damn city, again, nowhere near the ocean. That meant he was still dreaming. Dreaming, or he'd died and gone to Heaven.

Fat chance of that.

Breath deep. Hold. Release. He sighed and let go of the handrail, getting back on his own two feet. He cursed himself inaudibly for stupidly giving in to such a fantastical notion, wiping his eyes as he did so. Nothing in the wasteland was as alive as this. This had to be a dream, and he'd wake up sooner or later. Yet he felt so… real, in control, just like if he was awake. It must be a lucid dream, then. He looked down at his hands. If that were case, then he should have the powers of a God here, right? It was his own mind, after all, so it'd certainly be worth checking out. With a shrug, he envisioned conjuring fireballs in his hands.

Nothing happened.

Oh well, it was worth a shot. Fantasies aside, what the Hell was he supposed to do? Just wait around until he woke up, until some molerat gnawed on his face or the Knights finally found him? Well, there wasn't exactly much else he could do, was there?

He took another look at the forest, then at the adjacent sea, and he idly hoped that he'd be able to remember this dream. It was nice, the colors and the life. Maybe he'd make another stop by Oasis once he woke up, just to see a similar sight. Maybe he'd go back to the Arlington Cemetery and check in on those flowers. Maybe, maybe, maybe. So many maybes, and not a single one of them mattered, because nothing he did anymore mattered. Nothing had for a long time.

Ugh, if there was nothing other than the ocean, a forest and a rotten lighthouse, then this dream would get pretty boring pretty quickly. Maybe he'd go swimming? The water had looked placid enough, at least near the shore. He'd already gone through the effort of getting to the top of this tower, though, might as well make the most of it before going back down.

He drew his monocular just to get a better look at things. It was shoddy, really just half of a broken binocular he'd found and snapped in two after noticing that one of the lenses had long been shattered. It provided a grainy and imperfect view of whatever he focused on, but at least it did its job and allowed him to see shapes further away. He absentmindedly scanned first the trees, then the far-off swell of the mountains, then lazily traced the horizon along the sea, where the deep blue of the ocean met the light blue of the sky in an oddly intimate change of palette.

He focused away from the distant and onto the near, looking back across the rocky shore and then the nearby forest. That's when he noticed a road. It was largely hidden under the canopy, but it seemed to open up by the lighthouse's entrance at the edge of the cliff. Maybe the lighthouse wasn't just a single creation resultant from the dream, but perhaps a part of a bigger puzzle assembled by his unconscious?

His interest piqued, the Wanderer began to scan the forest with a greater attention to detail. Whereas before he'd been lazily looking over the trees, he now attempted to gleam any similar semblance of civilization, for no reason other than a way to satisfy his boredom in this unconscious interim. Plenty of practice in the wasteland had left him with an eye more than keen than most, and he was generally able to find things without too much difficulty.

It didn't take him long.

There was now no missing it, what appeared to be a few small structure not too much farther along the shore. Some sort of seaside settlement? Much of it was probably hidden behind the forest or another cliff like the one his own lighthouse was nestled against, but there was definitely a few buildings set amongst the trees not too far down the coast.

He absentmindedly wondered if there would be anyone there. Maybe it'd be a nice, quaint town populated by kind people who would keep him company while he waited to wake up? Maybe it'd just be another ghost town, like most of the wasteland? Maybe it'd be populated by tutu-wearing super mutants who would insist on performing a grand ballet for him? Who knew? It was a dream, anything could happen.

The lighthearted musings came to an abrupt end, however, when the scene before him started to develop. Black smoke began to roll up into the pure sky, malevolent and dark. It writhed and simmered in the air, pouring up from an angry orange fire below that only grew and grew, shortly engulfing one of the buildings that had been sitting idly and peacefully just a minute ago. It was too far away to actually make out any detail, and certainly too far to hear anything, but the Wanderer doubted that such a fire was intentional. Or, if it was, then it certainly wasn't without malice.

He put his monocular back into his belt. He quickly pulled off the filtration helmet from his bag and fastened it over his face. It was sturdy, and the tinted lenses afforded protection from sudden bursts of light, shrapnel and scratches. The gas mask kept him safe from smoke, chemicals and a good deal of radiation. The Gamma Shield Armor was strong and forged from good steel, lead-lined to ward off radiation. Every inch of his skin was now covered and protected in armor outmatched only by the powered sort. It was worn and looked terrible, but it still held together well, and it would continue to hold until the day he died. It was an outfit that was always ready for battle, just like him. Even if Metal Blaster and Enclave's Bane were shattered and in his bag, he still had both Crocea Mors and his Magnum. The Lone Wanderer turned and began to head back for the hatch, before taking one last look back at the smoke. It had began to grow, flowing up further into the sky, and it was no longer alone. Others black streaks began to snake up in the air, likely from other buildings that had been set ablaze. The Wanderer's hand came to rest instinctively on the hilt of Crocea Mors.

Perhaps this dream wouldn't be so boring after all.

* * *

 **AN:**

 **Okay then, first chapter! Expect an update around next Friday. I'll try my best to keep updates as regular as possible, but college life may make that a little tough. I'll shoot for between 5-10k words a chapter. Sorry for the big AN at the top, but I figure it's sorta necessary to explain some things about this fic, it being a crossover and having so much AU stuff. Any questions and reviews are encouraged and appreciated!  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Second chapter, let's do this.**

* * *

The dream remained as beautiful as ever: birds sang and hopped from tree to tree, while small animals scurried in the brush. The Lone Wanderer was on edge. There was far too much cover, both sound and sight. Behind every bird call could be the step of an enemy, and each rustle of the leaves may not be a squirrel but a shifting gun barrel.

He couldn't help it, really. His skin crawled as he trudged through the thick forest, which could easily hide any number of foes. He always focused an eye and an ear on scanning for threats, but now more than usual. All around him stood a deep green mass that camouflaged potential enemies.

One hand was on Crocea Mors at any time, finger on its trigger, ready for action.

Action, action, action, how he never seemed to elude it. Even in the confines of his own subconscious, he was corralled towards combat. Then again, there wasn't exactly much else he knew anymore, was there?

He crashed conspicuously through the forest, crushing plants underneath in a painfully loud orchestra that echoed across bark and leaf deep into the surrounding forest. He'd never exactly been one for subtlety anyhow. If there would be action, then he might not be shooting first; however, the Gamma Shield Armor would afford him all the time necessary to retaliate. He could feel Crocea Mors jostle lightly in its scabbard, as if raring to go at the thought of battle. Oh yes, he would retaliate.

Still scrutinizing his surroundings, the Wanderer also made sure to keep view of the smoke lingering in the sky. The blackness had only grown and swelled, becoming increasingly imposing and engorged as he approached. The closer he came, the more detailed it appeared. There were small flecks of ember swirling throughout the dark mass, like a legion of tiny dancers wearing costumes the hue of a vibrant sunset, set against an inky backdrop.

He'd long since had to abandon the overgrown road that had led to the lighthouse in favor of trekking directly through the greenery itself, heading straight for the coastal town which had captured his interest. As he closed in, a change of pace became necessary.

Alright, slow down, make a little less noise and keep low. He smelled nothing through the gas mask, nevertheless certain that the devilishly sweet aroma of smoke was wafting over him. He could even faintly hear the flame's crackling. Both were quite familiar, the smell and the sound. In fact, it reminded him of that one time he and Fawkes-

Gunshots.

The Wanderer dropped to the ground, drawing his magnum as he did so.

Breath deep. Hold. Release.

He scoured the forest, time seeping away slowly as his brain worked at a feverish pace. There was nothing, no one near him. The shots had been far off, certainly in the direction of the smoke. Well then, it seemed that things were really starting to get interesting in this dreamscape. Perhaps if he himself were shot, then the experience would be enough to jolt him awake? He hadn't tried pinching himself yet, so maybe a little bit of pain would be the catalyst necessary.

No, no he'd already felt a bit of physical pain, from working out the kinks after getting out of the armor to scraping his knees on the rocks while salvaging what was left. This dream proved especially lucid, and he didn't relish the idea of lifelike pain. Also, he'd had other dreams where much worse had been done to him without waking.

He rose slowly from his prone position, magnum raised, and crept through the trees, ever closer to the smoke that coalesced just ahead. He shortly reached a clearing, a stretch of bare ground that went from the tree line out to several smoldering buildings. What appeared to have been small storehouses were now just distorted embers, collapsed inward and left to burn.

Scanning for any good cover, he found that all candidates were on fire, likewise unfeasible. Scanning instead for enemies, he found nothing.

The Wanderer broke from the tree line and dashed up towards the first blazing building. He crouched near it, trusting in the flaming wreckage to flicker and hide his movements, if not block and projectile. Being hidden was a good form of cover in its own right. However, one thing saw him. A single crow, previously circling above, alighted down near him, but a shoo sent it flapping away.

He circled around the wreck and weaved between similarly fiery buildings, before making his way to the edge of the rocky cliff on which he sat.

"Hmm… "

A diminutive village rested below him, with certainly less than a hundred people able to live there. It was a poor place, if the shabby construction was any indication. Squat, ugly buildings huddled together like an anxious flock of sheep, nestled against the seaside with a gentle slope leading into the forest, otherwise surrounded by steep cliffs. It was a sad little hamlet, far from prosperous but comparatively well-off when set beside examples from the wasteland. There was, however, one similarity between the dream settlement and an earthly counterpart.

Raiders.

They managed to look more civilized than the sort he usually ran into, eschewing the insane hairstyles and absurd uncleanliness in favor of a simple, rugged look that still complimented their savagery. It really shouldn't have surprised him that even the dream's _raiders_ were cleaner.

Hygiene aside, there was no mistaking what they were, for they were armed, and all of the villagers had been rounded up before them, bound and helpless. Oddly, there were only six of the raiders, while there had to be dozens of townspeople, and most of the raiders didn't even have guns, only unkempt swords, while another two brandished strange-looking assault rifles, the last wielding a large spear.

Strange, even if these villagers had no guns of their own, which was unlikely, then they should've been able to overrun a few bandits. There had to be something more here, for the raiders clearly had total control of the situation, despite being outnumbered at least four to one. Wait… there had to be more of them. Yes, these were likely just the guards tasked with overlooking the villagers in the central town clearing while the rest of their gang ransacked the town. Yeah, look at that, a big pile of whatever loot those raiders had managed to take so far, and… yup, someone coming out from the buildings, carrying another bag of pilfered belongings

The Wanderer drew his monocular and searched for remaining enemies, but as he scanned the village, he noticed that only the one man was scurrying between the houses, collecting what he could like a rat going from heap to heap, picking up whatever crumbs could be found. Certainly, there was no more than crumbs, for this village was destitute in its own way, destitute but nothing compared to the wasteland. Some of those buildings even looked a little new.

He watched, confirming that there was no more than seven of the raiders, but even then, things didn't make much sense. Seven on, what was that, at least a few dozen, maybe fifty? They should've been beat back, but there must have been some reason for why they managed to trounce the villagers.

Oh right, this was a dream.

Anything could happen, and anything did happen. This was just a construct of his subconscious, something to distract him. In that case, he wanted nothing to with it. Fighting wasn't fun, just necessary. So, if he was going to waste away this dream, then he wouldn't do it in a shootout. Maybe if he tried enough, then he'd finally be able to summon some fireballs, wouldn't that be neat? He could go for a swim, even. Yeah, not a bad plan, not a bad plan at all. Whelp, sorry dream people, but I've got some lounging to do, maybe I'll feel a little bad when I wake up, but I doubt it.

He took one last glance through the monocular, this time looking not at the raiders, but the villagers. His curiosity had the gotten the better of him, and it would be interesting to see just what his brain had cooked up. Well… fear. It had made fear. It was etched onto all of their faces. The Wanderer gulped and shifted uncomfortably; one finger started tapping against the side of his monocular. He saw some of them quivering, others staring forlornly at the pile of loot, likely all of the money they had, as well as whatever belongings they were able to call their own. The Wanderer knew all about ownership, for in the brutal world of the wasteland, being able to call something yours, something familiar, something safe, was just one of many ways to cope with the strain (a strategy he himself used). His finger began to tap faster. Then he saw a child clutching at her mother's side. The woman in turn tried to pat her head soothingly, but its little frame was shaking, undoubtedly racked with panic and fright. The sightof that little girl enraptured him for a few seconds.

The Lone Wanderer put his monocular away and cracked his knuckles.

He circled around the village, sinking back into the protective forest which no longer seemed so treacherous. He continued to watch out for his surroundings, but now the forest was more of an ally, shielding him from the raiders' view. The fauna was complicit in his plan, and the irritatingly loud snaps of broken twigs, rasps of brushed bark and flutter of ruffled leaves came to him like loud whispers, uttered with all the excitement expected of a giddy—if inexperienced—cohort.

Inexperienced for sure, as the Wanderer nearly tripped a few times, muttering hushed curses every time a plant snagged his feet. He simply wasn't used to navigating terrain like this, terrain which had never existed before. Even Oasis was less overgrown than this place. At least the produced racket wouldn't be a problem, being well outside of earshot. All that mattered was staying out of sight long enough for him to get close to and maybe even inside the village if he could manage. Even without the added difficulty that was always inherent in unfamiliarity, he'd never mastered the art of being unnoticed. Hopefully the forest would provide all the help he needed.

He snuck his way down and away from the outcropping, leaving the foreboding smoke, a dark cloud which continued to billow and seethe and simmer, the tiny dancers glittering and leaping in unrestrained delight for the coming show. A comedy? Absolutely not. A musical? Even less likely. A thriller? Certainly. A tragedy? Perhaps.

He lurked behind the trees and crept in a circular route downhill, only nearing the town again when he was on level with it and provided additional cover by the ugly little buildings ahead of him. He could no longer see his foes, but fi they couldn't see him either, then all would be well. He stepped out of the forest; the leaves shook as he passed them, as if waving and wishing good luck.

He crouched and crept across the open ground towards the closest building, his magnum drawn and his breathing steady. Noise was now more important than sight. He carefully shrugged off his duffle bag, setting it gently to the ground beside a building. He grit his teeth at the way his armor rasped, the individual steel and lead plates grating against one another. He just hoped that this subterfuge would last long enough for him to get the first shot.

That was to be the defining factor: the element of surprise. Shock was the great equalizer, allowing one to exert force many times what they may otherwise be capable of. And he'd need to exert quite a bit of force quite quickly for this to work. It was one against seven, and they weren't pushovers, if their ability to subdue the village on their own was any suggestion. Thankfully, he had a good bit of experience with bursts of deadliness.

He hugged the ground, going only as fast as his armor's treacherous sound would allow, actually going even slower just because Gamma Shield wasn't exactly the most flexible outfit. Still, this snail's-pace would be well worth it if he managed to get that critical first shot, critical and perhaps even necessary. If he had Metal Blaster, then these bastards wouldn't stand a chance. As it was, he'd been robbed of his primary weapon, as well as the incredible power of Enclave's Bane. Crocea Mors and the magnum were both exceptional weapons, and he was exceptional with them, but exceptional could only ever get you so far. He was wary, as one who wanted to fight had to be if they also wanted to survive.

That didn't mean was afraid.

He'd faced behemoths and overlords; he'd faced deathclaws and albino radscorpions; he'd faced reavers and mirelurks; he'd faced the Dunwich Building and the Broken Banks. He'd faced all that the wasteland had to offer, and he'd been terrified. He'd been so thoroughly terrified so many times that he'd practically been inoculated to fear by now. He wasn't afraid of deathclaws or behemoths or mirelurks or ghouls, not anymore. In the face of such challenges, he'd steeled his strength and his will and he'd survived. There was no room for fear in the wasteland. Fear paralyzed. Fear hindered. Fear killed.

For a while, there'd only been one thing he truly feared, and these raiders were nothing compared to that. The monster... he flinched as an image of its gracious smile stabbed into his mind, warm and kind and inviting and deeply insidious.

He shook his head. No time for that. No time for that! No time for memories when the present is so dangerous. There they are, the six of them… the seven of them. Perfect. He held the magnum ready, and with his other hands, he prodded his belt experimentally to make sure that the frag grenades were there within ready reach. They were junk now after their little salt bath, but the raiders didn't have to know that, now did they?

He stooped behind a corner that was actually quite close now. They really were careless, weren't they? Probably think they have it in the bag, that these measly villagers are all they have to contend with. Set a few fires, rough some of them, brandish your weapons. Not hard to cow people with tactics like that, but they were men made of paper, easy to push over or crush underfoot or set aflame.

The Wanderer leveled his magnum. Seven of them, so he wouldn't be able to get a shot off on all of them at once, but he wouldn't need to. If everything went according to plan, this would be over in a minute, but of course he didn't expect that. Never expect your plans to work, just hope they do.

He observed for a little while longer, and he saw the one with the spear was pointing at the others and directing them around. Alright, he'd be first. It was when the looter began to move away once more that the Wanderer finally acted. Perched on a nearby roof, the same crow from before cawed.

Breath deep. Hold. Release.

Breath deep. Hold. Release.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he focused, finger resting lightly on the trigger.

Then he fired.

In the span of just a few seconds, all six rounds from his magnum had been emptied. The first went straight for the leader's chest. Another two went right for the backs of two others. A fourth went for neck of another. A fifth went for the head of the last. A sixth went for the looter's leg. All the shots connected.

The view quickly devolved into a bloody mess. One man dropped dead, a hole punched into his back and ripping into his heart from behind. A second man had his shoulder blade shattered and fell to the ground, squirming in pain. Blood sprayed profusely from the now open arteries were one man's neck had been ripped open. Futilely clutching at the wound, he tried to stem the crimson tide even as he fell to the ground and the world faded to black. Brain matter and slivers of skull splattered the floor as a man's head was blown in half. The looter collapsed with a scream, blood spilling from his leg as he flopped pathetically to the ground. Most importantly, the two with rifles were dead. Only the one he hadn't been able to target had gone completely unscathed.

Curiously, the leader seemed to be perfectly fine as well. The Wanderer had noticed his shot connected straight with his chest, which appeared completely unarmored aside from a shirt, yet a flash of light and a spark rang out when the bullet struck home, deflected away with no harm.

He'd be dead soon too, just a matter of time.

The Wanderer didn't act to reload, instead his free hand fell to the frag grenades at his belt. They were cheap, crafted things that he'd only brought along with him to clear out packs of ghouls or mole rats or such vermin, rendered inert by the water. Inert, but far from useless.

He threw them both towards the raiders. One look at the grenades panicked them, and the few that could still move ducked away, reneging any immediate counterattack in an effort to survive the explosive onslaught. An onslaught that never came. What did come, was a fresh volley of rounds from the Wanderer, who'd gotten plenty of time to reload while they were distracted.

He flung out shots toward the leader and the man unscathed. The latter was still on the ground from his haphazard dive from the grenades, leaving him immobile and, for all intents and purposes, already dead. Two new shots ripped into the side of his chest, shattering his ribs and liquifying his innards. Another shot went toward the man whom had been shot in the back but managed to survive. He'd been downed, but he was still dangerous. His blood and shreds of his organs sprayed out and leaked onto the ground as his pained writhing was put to an end. The leader managed to stay standing yet again. Another couple of shots met the same fate as last, connecting with a bright flash before bouncing off without delivering so much as a scratch.

The Wanderer was about to reload, if not for a shuffle from behind. There was an eighth. Of course there was an eighth, and of course he'd show up just when he needed to reload. God damn it, why hadn't he noticed that?

Time quickly snapped back into focus as the Wanderer was shaken from his concentration. In a single swift motion, he holstered the Magnum, took hold of Crocea Mors and spun to face the new combatant. Thankfully, the raider didn't have a gun, sneaking close instead, but now he quickly raised his sword and charged clumsily. No real training, that much was obvious from the grip and the footwork, probably no real experience either. This scum had likely only ever fought the helpless. The Lone Wanderer took one step forward, falling into a stance as he twisted his hips and drew Crocea Mors, its many teeth glinting in the sunlight.

He pulled back on the trigger, and the ripper-sword roared to life.

The vicious weapon shrieked as it flew through the air, and its war-cry intermingled with a slosh of sprayed blood and a scream of pain to create a terrible cacophony that rang out through the village. The Wanderer had cut the man's hand off, leaving a gnarled stump from which hung a few forlorn shreds of flesh. A shift of the feet, a twist of the hips and a flick of the wrist had Crocea Mors immediately reoriented and descending upon the man. It bit into his skull before rapidly grinding deeper and sending brain matter, blood and shards of bone flying as he became silent and collapsed—dead and mutilated.

Covered in gore, the Wanderer whirled to face his final opponent: the leader. He looked just in time to see the man raise his spear up and point the tip of it right at him, before flicking a button and…

What.

The spear head split in two, either side of the blade hinging back to reveal a gun barrel.

The spear was actually a rifle?

Yes, yes it was, and he ducked for cover behind the corner of the building. Alright then, not the strangest thing he'd ever seen. After all, the wasteland was filled with bizarre weapons of all sorts, just a matter of sheathing Crocea Mors, reloading the Magnum and finishing—

The Wanderer exploded.

The measly wooden wall he'd crouched behind was reduced to smoking splinters that mixed with a concussive shockwave and a flush of pure flame, sending him flying. Thankfully, he'd installed pads into the Filtration Helmet to protect him from ear damage, otherwise he'd probably have been rendered deaf y the crash. The hardy steel of Gamma Shield managed to keep the fire and shrapnel at bay, but the force of the blast left him sprawled.

Not a rifle. A missile launcher. Important distinction.

Luckily, the explosion had been mostly fire, and the Wanderer scrambled to his hands and knees, grasping a hold of Crocea Mors and stumbling away just in time to avoid another gout of flame and debris. He righted himself and sprinted out of the way. The leader hefted his spear and fired another round. Now with a proper view, the Wanderer saw that it wasn't a missile launcher. An angry red light shot from the shaft of the weapon and careened through the air, just missing the him and bursting in a raging inferno nearby.

Those strange rounds seemed to be focused on fire, and it was probably that same weapon which set those houses ablaze. That damn thing was closer to an Enclave heavy incinerator than anything else, but how the Hell had someone managed to compress that down into a spear form?

Oh yeah, this was a dream.

The reminder made the Wanderer hesitate. This momentary pause left him vulnerable to another shot, which he just barely avoided, once again being sent sprawling. A wave of dull pain pulsed under his skin from the landing. Certainly didn't feel like a dream…

He scrambled back up and rushed again, avoiding another few blasts. He looked back at his opponent, just in time to see him pull the trigger on his spear again.

Nothing happened.

The raider leader looked down at his weapon with a snarl. Out of ammo. Excellent. Now the Wanderer would have enough time to reload the Magnum and take him down, though whatever armor the bastard was wearing would make that a little har—whoa!

A plume of smoke and flame rushed towards him, crashing across the ground like a great wave flooding in from the ocean. The fiery avalanche had originated in the blaze's set by the leader's weapon, now propelled by a strong wind. The fire and debris washed over him, scorching his armor but not his skin. Gamma Shield was made of sturdy stuff, after all.

Still, the flames had caught onto what little flammable material there was on his suit, and the Wanderer was forced to break away and dive into a roll, putting out the fire by the tried and true method. He quickly got to his feet and eyed the leader once more. The man's snarl had been replaced with a smile. He raised one hand in the air. It was completely empty and certainly posed no threat.

Certainly.

The leader narrowed his eyes and swiped down vertically through the air. What was he doing?

To the Wanderer's side, the fire which he'd just leapt from was hit with a great gust of wind that apparently come from nowhere. The additional oxygen crashed down into the flames, feeding it and causing the blaze to roar back upwards, swelling with a malicious might and transforming into a hungry, raging maw of heat. Sparks and tiny embers danced all around as the fire grew, smoke quickly billowing once more as millions of those tiny dancers all bounded together, glaring right at the Wanderer with cruel little eyes.

The raider cut his hand horizontally, and another gust of wind rushed into the blaze from the side, sending the firestorm crashing towards the Lone Wanderer once more.

God damn it.

The flame devoured him. The fire once more latched onto his armor. Sweat instantly covered him as he was cooked alive inside the frame of steel and lead. He dashed out and rolled to the ground, trying to desperately put it all out before any of it managed to creep into the armor and scorch his skin. Whoops, too late. Jesus Christ, this pain is too real!

The Wanderer frantically, clumsily, thrashed at himself to try and pat out any remaining flames, slivers of pain prickling across his body where he was seared. He lusted for the ability to pat himself flame-free, but he instead grabbed hold of Crocea Mors and rushed out of the way. He wasn't slow to learn.

Sure enough, the firestorm surged behind him, engulfing the spot he'd been not a moment before. The wind changed course and again rushed towards him, but the fire died out if it tried to roll towards him too quickly, enabling him to outpace it this time. Sprinting, he left the inferno behind.

A paranoid, practical part of his mind reminded him to check the real danger here, and he was grateful that he did.

The raider pressed the button on his spear and snapped back into a blade form, before thrusting a hand back behind him and hurtling himself forward with another blast of wind, heading straight towards the Wanderer, weapon raised.

Dear Lord, this was something straight out of a Grognak comic.

The Wanderer raised Crocea Mors and pulled the trigger. Its teeth lashed against the shaft of the spear, producing a brief, harsh squeal as he deflected the initial strike, which had a surprising amount of power behind it, actually making him stumble. The raider quickly swung out with the haft, smashing the Wanderer in the arm. Pain coursed through him as the steel of his armor crunched and bent under the force of the strike and he backed away. What the Hell!? How was this person so strong!?

He dodged the downwards stab delivered next, which practically shattered the ground where the spear struck, chunks of earth sent flying in all directions. Jesus, he must have hit with the force of a truck. Seriously, what the Hell!?

The Lone Wanderer didn't let his surprise get the better of him, instead capitalizing on the opportunity to plant his food just under the head of the spear, successfully keeping it stuck for a second, just long enough to swipe Crocea Mors at the man, who ducked under the initial swing, yet was unprepared for the Wanderer's quick pivot, kicking off of the spear to immediately bring back the blade and run it across the man's neck. With no armor to protect him, the ripper-sword's teeth drove towards his artery for the kill, biting down into exposed flesh.

It was promptly repelled by a flash of white, not even leaving a scratch.

Okay come on.

The raider drove one fist into the Wanderer's gut. The metal there crumpled like tinfoil against the punch. The single strike sent a shock throughout his entire body and propelled him—several hundred pounds of flesh and metal—backwards by several yards, landing flat on his back. Crocea Mors clattered out of his grip, its harsh scream finally ending as it lay lifeless only a few feet away.

A few feet which might as well have been a mile. He couldn't even breath, his entire abdomen shuddering from the recent impact. He couldn't even move. All he could manage was weakly opening and closing his mouth like a fish and blearily looking back at his attacker.

All that pain… this really didn't feel like a dream anymore.

"I've got to hand it to you, not bad," the raider taunted, lazily circling the tip of his spear in the air as he strutted towards the Wanderer. He looked back towards the huddled group of terrified villagers, bound and defenseless. Now they were even more forlorn than before, they're sense of hope revitalized only to be freshly torn away, leaving them with only a melancholic ache.

The raider rubbed his neck where the Wanderer had struck. "Not bad at all. Who knows, if you actually had aura, then maybe that would've taken me close to yellow. Got to say that I underestimated you for a second there. Saw how my fire got at you and how you had no aura, figured you'd just be a chump. You are, but slightly less of a chump than I thought. That little move with my spear was pretty good. If you had aura, then maybe you actually could've done a little damage." The raider got ever closer towards him, now standing just above the Wanderer, spear raised.

There was a harsh bird call and the little crow that the Wanderer had seen earlier flapped off of its perch from a nearby rooftop, gliding towards them. The raider hefted his spear and prepared to skewer him. The crow cawed, beady red eyes flashing midair as it plummeted. Then it exploded.

No… no it didn't explode. It transformed.

It shattered into a shadowy ball that immediately expanded before taking shape in a split second, and not a split second later a large sword swung out towards the raider's back. The devastating surprise attack raked slashed into him, sending him flying. The man's pained cry was drowned out by the loud crash of collapsing wood as he smashed straight through a house, tumbling further away. For his credit, he managed to keep hold of his spear through the ordeal, but it was rendered useless at that distance, for the crow-man unlatched his sword blade and began to fire from the hilt of his weapon, forcing the raider into the same evasive position that the Wanderer had occupied just a few minutes prior.

The raider frantically dodged the shots as Birdman closed the distance, catching his foe when he was off-balance by the last blast and delivering an incredible flurry of blows, sword moving so quickly so as to be no more than a blur. Still, the raider managed to block or dodge most of those strikes… most of them.

He stepped back and whipped his hand, sending out a gust the propelled Birdman away. Now he tried to keep him at a distance where his spear would be most effective, trying to keep Birdman at bay with lashes of wind and striking out with his spear when he could. It wasn't enough, not nearly enough.

The Wanderer finally struggled up to a sitting position and grasped Crocea Mors, but he wouldn't be needed. Things were practically already done. Birdman deftly dodged or deflected each one of his opponent's attacks and never allowed the gusts to put him too off-balance, pressing back in immediately to render his enemy's weapon as ineffective as possible and limit the amount of wind he could discharge; after all, he couldn't very well strum up a hurricane right at his own feet, now could he?

Birdman got in a few more strikes, each of them clashing against a flash of white as they connected, but judging by the winces on the raider's face, they were nevertheless effective, painful too. He pressured the increasingly overwhelmed and out of breath raider until, finally, it was finished. The raider overreached with one of his thrusts, allowing Birdman to flash in under the spear with a swirl and kick out his feet from under him. As he was airborne, Birdman righted himself and delivered a vertical, downward slash that smashed him back down to the ground. The force behind that strike was so great that the ground where he landed exploded as if an artillery shell had hit, a shockwave and debris flying several yards out in all directions. There was silence.

Birdman stepped away, then, certain of his victory, turned back to the Wanderer and shot a cocky smirk. Now that he got a look at him, he saw who appeared to be a middle-aged, wiry man with greying hair and a field of stubble that looked less like a beard and more like a forgotten (or simply neglected) shave. For all the fighting, he barely even seemed winded.

"Heh, good work buddy. Gotta give you props for having the guts to take on a rogue huntsman when you don't even have aura yourself. Stupid, but gutsy," Birdman said, voice raspy and lilted. Was he drunk? The man in question glanced back towards the village, specifically at the other raiders' bodies. He whistled. "You really did a number on his cronies, though."

"I did what needed to be done," the Wanderer answered, his voice airy and deep through the filter. He got to his feet. Everything was sore, and he'd have awful bruises, and his armor felt strange and uncomfortable after being warped by the blows, but he would survive.

Birdman only hummed in answer, taking a flask from his hip and gulping down some of the drink inside. The Wanderer turned away from his rescuer and looked at the battlefield himself, noticing some unfinished business. "You go and free the villagers, I'll take care of that one."

Without waiting for a response, the Wanderer marched back into the village center and followed a short trail of blood. He'd aimed to immobilize, for you never know when one might be useful alive. The looter clutched his leg, which had finally stopped bleeding. Nonetheless, the pain was evident on his face, and it was about to get worse.

The Wanderer walked up. Before the man could utter a word, he viciously stomped down on his leg, grinding a boot into the wound, reopening it and driving out a fresh spurt of crimson blood. Predictably, this elicited a pained shriek.

"Are there any more of you!?" he yelled.

"Agh, why!" the looter screamed.

Wrong answer, the Wanderer stomped down again— _hard_.

"Are there any more of you!?"

"NO! NO! There were only eight of us! Only eight! Eight!"

"Is that right!?"

The Wanderer stomped again, collecting another scream.

"YES! Gods it's right! It's right!"

He stomped again.

"Are you lying to me!?"

"NO! No! I'm not! Oh Gods!"

He stomped again.

"You better not be lying to me!"

"I'm not, I swear!"

He stomped again.

"Are you sure, really sure!?"

"YES!"

He stomped again. This time, he heard bone crack.

"You're not lying to me?"

"NO DEAR GODS I'M NOT!"

The Lone Wanderer looked at him for a moment, analyzing the man shuddering before him. He drew the Magnum and reloaded it.

"I believe you," he said.

Then he leveled the pistol and pulled the trigger.

At the last moment, a hand shot out and struck his own, diverting the bullet so that it struck the ground just beside the looter's head. He whipped about to face this latest attacker, stopped short by the iron grip and furious face of his rescuer.

"What the Hell is wrong with you!?" Birdman asked.

"What do you mean? Let me go!"

"What do I mean?" he asked incredulously. He pointed back at the looter, whimpering and cradling his brutalized leg. His face was covered in his own tears and his hands were covered in his own blood, slick and scarlet. He was a man in incredible agony… and he was a man who'd been prepared to rob these people of everything they had, kill anyone who tried to stop him and then do God-knows-what to the people left afterward. The Lone Wanderer only shrugged.

"I said I'd take care of him, didn't I?"

"Umm yeah, I thought you meant you'd bandage him and tie him up, not torture and execute him!"

"What would we do to him after I tied him up?"

"Take him to jail, you psycho!"

"Jail?"

"Yeah, you know, prison, the slammer, the can, the joint, jail! What, do they not have jails where you come from?"

"No."

That seemed to get the man's attention. The rage in his faded ever so slightly, curiosity creeping in. The Lone Wanderer was pretty curious himself. They had jails here? Permanent jails? The most civilized places he'd ever been to didn't even have jails. Rivet City only had a few short-term cells, before they quickly decided to do one of three things to you: let you go, banish you, kill you. Vault 101 had cameras and guards around every corner, no one ever tried anything. The few who did were beaten and/or killed. Even the Brotherhood didn't have jails; they'd kill anyone caught doing something deserving of death, and people caught doing lesser crimes were generally impressed into a period of indentured servitude. Slavery-lite, but only for criminals. They'd take pity on people who did things out of desperation, maybe even let them go if the reason was good enough. Still, not even Lyons, with his bleeding heart, was willing to take on the strain of running a full jail.

Wait a minute, of course they had a jail here. It was a dream! How could he forget. Anything could happen here… it was a dream. Everything felt so real, though. He'd gotten completely caught up in it, even going through the usual interrogation motions. The adrenaline, the pain, all of it. Everything felt vivid and strong, lacking the same hazy, amnesiac edge that dreams so often maintain. No, come on, this couldn't be real. It was a dream. Then again, a lot of crazy and bizarre stuff had happened in the wasteland, but no, no this was just too ludicrous.

It _was_ a dream.

Right?

"Hey buddy, stop spacing out," said Birdman. "I dunno where you're from, but around here we don't just kill people and torture will-nilly. That's kinda not okay." He shoved the Wanderer aside and knelt over the looter, who was curled up and shaking. "Now let me patch this guy up real quick. You can go stand somewhere else, just try not to murder anyone."

The Wanderer scoffed and stepped back. A look at showed the villagers showed that Birdman had indeed freed a few of them before intervening in the execution, and they were helping the rest get untied. A few looked back, furtively. Their glances were quick and frightened, perhaps due to what he'd just done to the looter. Strange, such treatment wouldn't have been so frowned upon back in the wasteland.

He holstered the Magnum and let himself take a relaxing few breaths before assessing the situation. Several buildings were still on fire, but the houses were far enough apart that it wasn't spreading. At least _most_ of the town would still be left with their homes. All of the hostiles had been taken out too. He looked down to his equipment. Crocea Mors was an advanced piece of military hardware, and a little fire wouldn't do it any harm. The magnum was still in good condition. The armor itself was a mess, scorched all over and crushed in a few places. Thank God he'd put the MF cells, ECP's and other ordinance into his duffle bag, less they'd been singed and set off. His stimpaks were also safe in a metal compartment at the back of utility belt, good.

What wasn't so good, however, was the state of his med-x syringes. They were half-melted, partly shattered and completely useless. He threw them to the ground in disgust. Just fantastic. With the way his body felt right now, he really could've used those. How his body felt… he'd never felt this way in a dream. Still, it _had_ to be a dream, right?

Right?

His musing was interrupted, however, for over the sound of quiet conversation from the villagers, the crackle of smoldering homes and the whimpers of the looter, there came a single, gruff roar.

If this was a dream, then it was a terrible one.

From the woods lumbered a large… monster. That was the only way to describe it. A monster. It looked like a yao-guai, just with a bizarre bone structure on its face, almost like a red and white mask. The rest of its body was covered in perfectly black fur. No, not a yao-guai, those things were covered in scraps of fur and looked thoroughly diseased. This was something different.

"Ursa!" one of the villagers shouted.

Okay then, guess it's that. The beast in question looked at them and gave another ear-splitting roar that was quickly joined in a chorus by similar monsters that trudged out from the forest. Their massive weight shook the ground with each stomp. Fangs and claws scraped together and produced a scratchy, staccato melody as they neared the village.

"Grimm! Damn it, they must've come for the negativity," Birdman snarled. "Psycho, you stay back and cover for the villagers. I'll take care of this." The villagers in question all screamed and tried to huddle together, and the Wanderer dutifully drew his magnum once more.

He backed up to give Birdman the requested space, and watched idly as he once again drew his sword. Instead of charging at the Ursa, however, he flicked a switch on the weapon, and the Wanderer noticed that its hilt contained a strange clockwork mechanism that began to whir. What was that thing… oh… wait…what… really?

Really.

Birdman leapt into action, brandishing his scythe and swinging it in wide, deft arcs that sliced with practiced precision. He showcased his mastery with each decisive swing, leaping through the air to cut down the Ursa without a problem.

The Wanderer surveyed the area around the village, making sure that nothing else was coming. Of course, something else did come, and, of course, they were deathclaws. No, some bizarre shadowy variant. Several of them sprinted from the forest, heading in from a different direction as Birdman and charging straight for the villagers.

Breath deep. Hold. Release.

Time trickled by, and to the Wanderer, there was only him, the magnum and the deathclaws. He fired. All six shots screamed through the air and towards his latest prey. Four in total, he aimed for their legs. It was always best to crippled deathclaws. He'd need to be careful now, for he was down to just one final cartridge, which he hurriedly loaded back in as the deathclaws dealt with their recent injuries. The magnum was exceptionally powerful, but it still had its limits. Three of them were left heavily limping as the rounds tore through tendons or maybe even bone. Alright then, not so bulletproof as a deathclaw, claws weren't as long either, thank God. Still, one other had only been hit by a single grazing wound, quickly rearing on the Wanderer. Excellent, how excellent.

The beast covered the distance quickly, but the Wanderer reloaded faster. He raised the magnum once more. Breath deep. Hold release. The world slowed and he focused on the beast's legs. He could just barely make out Birdman's footfalls not far behind him. Oh well, as long as he was handling his side of the attack, then the Wanderer would be fine, so he pulled the trigger.

Misfire.

The Magnum had never misfired before. Jesus Christ, what kind of luck is that!?

He threw it aside and drew Crocea Mors instead, barely having enough time to block the beast's first strike. There went his plan of picking it apart when it was crippled. Thankfully, it was mindless, not nearly as witty as a deathclaw. It was, however, still a seven-foot tall monster with large teeth and claws. The Wanderer evaded and deflected a few more of its crushing strikes before pulling the trigger on Crocea Mors and rushing inside its guard, raking along the side of its chest with the ripper-sword. The beast howled in response, and the Wanderer was covered in a new coat of blood. He edged out behind it and struck its leg, hamstringing it. The creature still twisted and smashed him with a burly arm, sending him flying back. Just in time for the others to arrive. Even if they were crippled, they were determined, and two more bore down on him with their claws and fangs, snapping and slashing with impunity.

Crocea Mors roared defiantly and he hacked at their hands and jaws when they lashed out, cutting back at their brutish and unrestrained strength. One clipped him on the shoulder, shearing through the steel and cutting a shallow wound. He thrusted, rending through its neck so that it could do no more than splutter, bleed and sink to the ground to die. The others persisted. A hand shot and snipped at his waist, so he cut it off. Another struck and stabbed into his side, the tip of the claws tickling his ribs. He bit down on the scream and forced himself through the pain. Another one cut down into his leg, imposing a slight limp upon him as blood seeped out from his armor and dribbled to the ground. He sawed through its faceplate and tore into the matter behind, ripping off its jaw as he drove the blade through. Another down. Alright, just two more. As painful as his wounds were, with a stimpak they wouldn't be life threatening. And as he charged in and carved Crocea Mors up and into the chest of the third, it seemed it may just stay that way. Now where was the fourth—

Oh no.

The villagers had started to run and scream back to their houses as the monsters first attacked, and now most took refuge save for a few stragglers. Another shadow-deathclaw had come in and cut off several from escaping, forcing them to run back towards the Wanderer. The fourth deathclaw he'd previously crippled had been attracted to their cries. One of them was that very same child he'd seen before through his monocular, her separated mother screeching nearby, unable to get close for the deathcalw between them. The girl ran in a panic from said deathclaw, even as the last of the crippled ones lurched towards her. Birdman leapt into action and cut down the one behind her, before looking up at the final monster standing. The desperate child finally looked up to see it too, so blind in her fear for what was behind her, that she didn't even notice the threat ahead. Birdman shouted and moved, but the Wanderer had been moving well before, limp be damned. He dashed in just as the last deathclaw began to lash out at the child. He was close to it now. He could swing Crocea Mors and cut into it, perhaps even kill it, but that wouldn't stop the momentum behind those claws. He saw the child. Young, not past five. He saw her tears and he saw her fear. Most importantly, he saw what he had to do.

At the last moment, he dove in and knocked her out of the way.

Things became very quiet after that; not silent, just quiet, disturbingly quiet, as if sound itself had become hollow. The Wanderer looked up at the deathclaw's face, directly into those cruel red eyes. He looked down at the claws lodged within him. He heard the sickening squelch of those same claws withdrawing. A gaping wound was torn into his midriff, his own blood and shreds of flesh spewed out from the breach in Gamma Shield, the armor that would hold until the day he died. Too bad that day seemed to be today.

He collapsed back onto the ground. The last monster pressed on, determined to finish the job. A flash of steel ended that.

Birdman crouched over him, eyes filled with anger, though not for the Wanderer.

"Damn it, damn it!" he chanted. He must've mopped up the rest of them, because he set his scythe aside and inspected the Wanderer's wound. It was bad, that was for sure, but as long as he got several stimpaks right away, then dressed it, he should hopefully be fine. So the Wanderer reached for a stimpak at his utility belt.

It wasn't there.

A panicked glance revealed that his entire belt was missing, and his roving, desperate eyes caught sight of it not far away, under one of the monster's claws. It must've cut it off while they were fighting. Gamma Shield was covered in rents and scratches, and many scraps had been discarded, but why did the belt have to go to, of all things?

"Sti-sti-stimpak... "he muttered.

"What?"

"Stimpak… stimpak… stim…" His strength was departing, making it harder to speak. He could feel blood bubbling out from between his lips as he tried to splutter his wish, making it even harder. He tasted only bitter iron. He tried to point feebly at his utility belt, but his hand fell back down before Birdman could notice. Birdman… why didn't he get it? Why wasn't he getting a stimpak? Didn't he have one? As it was, the man was gritting his teeth and examining the wound. The Wanderer kept trying to speak, but between the blood, the weakness and the mask, Birdman couldn't hear a thing. The other man realized this, so he quickly yanked off the filtration helmet. His expression sunk instantly.

"Gods… your face... and you're just a kid… you've got to be around Yang's age…" All anger fled as an instinctual fear flashed across Birdman's face, mixed with pity and surprise. Perhaps he'd expected him to be older, more grizzled. Most people did. The legendary Lone Wanderer, nothing more than a teenager. No one had ever guessed, and it seemed that no one would ever guess again.

Birdman's face set into a visage of determination. He stared down into the Wanderer's eyes, one red, one blue. Both of Birdman's were red, but the color became less noticeable as the world darkened. Darker and darker and darker. The pain which had become so horribly prevalent in the last few moments now bled away, leaving an all-encompassing numbness. He was sleepy. Very sleepy. So very sleepy.

His eyes closed, and he began to drift away. He faintly heard Birdman's voice, saying something, something interesting, something like a chant, or maybe a song, or maybe a last rite. It didn't matter, because everything was fading—

The Wanderer's eyes shot open. He felt incredible. He felt bizarre. It was as if his blood had been replaced with pure jet. He could feel power coursing through his veins, seeping through his muscles, radiating from his skin. Literally. Literally radiating. He was glowing. Why was he glowing!? Above him, he could see Birdman, a weary and concerned look on his face, but that quickly twisted into a smile.

"Don't worry kid, you're gonna be alright."

He didn't know whether or not he could believe that, but he didn't care, either. The incredible euphoria died down, the power settling in and shortly becoming familiar. It merged with every fiber of his being, or maybe it had been there in the first place, just now exploding out. Wherever it had been, he could now feel it receding within himself, pooling around his wounds. Exhaustion returned, but with this new feeling of power, and with Birdman's confident smile, maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he went to sleep…

* * *

When he woke up, he didn't immediately open his eyes. He was too tired to do that right away. Instead, he simmered in soreness. He wasn't in pain, he was just sore. Horribly, horribly sore, everywhere. Every muscle ached, even his _skin_ ached. He groaned and shifted, enjoying the way the soft fabric brushed soothingly against him. It still wasn't nearly enough.

That aside, he also felt good. Really, really good. There was something in his muscles and in his blood and his skin that was simply... strong. That was the only way to describe it: strong. It was different, _he_ was different. Not a bad difference at all; it was an incredible feeling to wake up to. Wait a minute… he'd just woken up. Oh, thank God, he'd gotten out of that dream. That crazy, crazy dream. The Brotherhood must've finally found him since he was in what felt to be a nice, warm bed.

Wait a minute, nice, warms beds were rare at the best of times.

He opened his eyes and looked around. It was dark, with the only light in the room coming from the moon through a nearby window and dozens of tiny lights on the surrounding machines. He was immediately struck by the stark cleanliness of the room. An inexplicable cleanliness. Not only did it look like every surface had been wiped down recently, it also lacked the usual cracks and holes. It looked new. Nice and white and new. All of it. It was a hospital room, one that looked as sanitary and professional as Dad's old clinic back in the vault. The room's only door opened. His eyes shot towards it, seeing a young woman dressing in blue scrubs, a nurse.

"Oh, hello Steve, you're awake! Fantastic! You took a real beating, but thankfully your aura was unlocked in time to save you. You actually have a lot by the way, any less and you may not have fared so well. But don't worry Steve, you'll be fine; we've been monitoring your vitals for a while and everything's stabilized. I'll tell your father that you've woken up, but for now you should just get some more rest, and I'll send him to visit in the morning." The nurse flashed a warm smile and turned back around to leave the room, her monkey tail waving lazily behind her as she left.

Steve…?

Aura…?

Father…?

Tail…?

…

…

Steve...?

The Wanderer was dumbstruck. This was ridiculous. Was he still dreaming? No. Not at this point. This simply wasn't a dream. It couldn't be. This bizarre place, was it real? Was it actually real? If it was, then so much about it was so strange…

He tried to quiet his thoughts and distract himself by looking outside the window and at the night sky. Then he saw the moon, half of it shattered into a thousand pieces.

He let out a long sigh and closed his eyes again. Maybe, if he just went to sleep, then he'd wake up again and find that this really was just a dream, and things would be back to normal again.

He didn't believe himself.

* * *

 **AN: Alrighty then, now we see some of the AU I was talking about. Crocea Mors is no longer a classic, but an advanced piece of military hardware. I considered making it a shocksword, but I selected a ripper in the end. This is one way I'm trying to input as much fallout into the RWBY world as I can while blending the two together, since otherwise this may just be a fic where Jaune has a different past, and if that's the case, why bother even making it a crossover? Also, this is still based off of the in-game character, who used a ripper as his primary melee weapon. In the game, Metal Blaster, the original Tesla Cannon, a ripper and a magnum made up my primary weapons, with the Gamma Shield Armor and Filtration Helmet being my primary armor. But why not use power armor? As I said before, roleplay impacted my in-game decisions. Crocea Mors and how the Lone Wanderer came to wield it is a story of its own, one to be revealed in due time. His magnum has a story too, and that'll be teased in just a few chapters.**

 **Also, I would've liked to have more build-up to Crocea Mors's reveal, but I want to get through the introduction as soon as I can. We still have a few more chapters of this, but I promise it won't last long. That's why I chose to mash together both the raider and Grimm fights, rather than try to space it out between two chapters. I also tried to drop some references to his stats and what happened back during the story of Fallout 3, and I hope that the lore is being delivered well.**

 **But now we're faced with the pivotal question: who the Hell is Steve?**

 **Find out the answer to this and more, in our next installment, which you can expect next weekend! Of course, any and all reviews and/or questions are encouraged and appreciated!**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: The third chapter, let's start right where we left off.**

* * *

Morning light flooded into the hospital room through the open window, a fresh breeze pouring in alongside it. A comfortable warmth and a soft brightness rested in the room, come from the low-lying sun. The Lone Wanderer sat amongst it in his bed, finishing breakfast. The mutant nurse smiled and took it away. At least, he figured she was a mutant, having a monkey tail and all. Not like there was any other explanation. Explanations... how he longed for them. How were those men able to fight like that? Why was the moon broken? Why did his nurse have a tail? Why did he apparently have a dad again? Why did everyone call him Steve?

All these questions and more consumed his thoughts, and he hadn't the slightest clue how to go about answering any of them. He just needed to roll with things, especially when it came to the 'Steve' bit. Sure, it was definitely strange for everyone to call him that, but correcting them might mean the end of his free food and medicine. He'd gotten a plain yet filling meal for breakfast, and during the past few days, (which was apparently how long he'd been unconscious) he'd been treated quite well. This way of life had long been foreign to him; safety, security. The only apparent cost was that he had to let them call him Steve Branwen.

What a stupid name. Not even 'Steven', he was just listed down as 'Steve' being his full name. Steve Branwen... it just sounded so dumb paired together.

Nomenclature aside, there were plenty of other things to worry about, such as the mysterious 'aura'. Both nurse and doctor had both mentioned it, saying that his aura was large, large enough to gather together and bring him back from the brink of death. Apparently, Birdman had 'unlocked' it for him, saving him at the last moment. Great, twice he'd been saved by the man. Just one instance would've already indebted him towards the man, but two? He owed the guy a lot, especially if aura did everything he thought it might. Superhuman strength and speed. Seemingly supernatural protection. He'd spent a lot of time that morning worrying about what would be demanded in exchange, for certainly he'd demand something. They always did.

When not fretting about debt, he'd been contemplating another question distinct from the ones mentioned prior. Similar in context yet different in nature, it was the most important as well as the only one he may actually be able to answer. How had he gotten here? He'd accepted that this wasn't a dream, but acceptance provided no explanation. This world was completely alien and insane, constituting equal parts vitality and absurdity such that he'd never before seen. This was something that shouldn't have happened, something that wasn't supposed to be _able_ to happen. After devoting a few hours to recollection, however, he finally stumbled upon an answer. It was painfully obvious now that he thought about it, but hindsight is 20/20 after all Still, he should've been able to pick up on it sooner once he'd been dropped off here in this strange new world, instead of stubbornly clinging to the idea of a dream. Not for the first time that morning, he rapped his own forehead for the stupidity. Now that he thought about it, the explanation was perfectly reasonable.

Aliens.

Those little green bastards had taken him off of Earth, _again._ The last time had been strange enough, and he hadn't been totally sure about its reality until he got back to Earth with alien tech he'd been able to sell to the Brotherhood for a small fortune, and fortunes never came from nothing.

He'd spent weeks on the alien ship, first fighting them, then picking the place apart for a way to escape. Consequently, he was closely acquainted the alien aesthetic. So, when he'd scoured his memory that morning, combing through the moments just before his Earthly departure, he'd been able to see what he'd missed in the heat of the moment. Canisters identical to that on the mothership had rested in the central laboratory, which itself appeared to be a degraded and derelict chunk of an alien ship. Perhaps it was from the ship he'd blown up in that space battle. Alright, actually thinking it through made everything sound a little insane.

Still, it was easily the only feasible explanation he could deduce, especially considering the contraption in the middle of the laboratory. The entire lab had been built in accommodation to this single alien device. There were other labs in different parts of the compound that had contained various alien materials for experimentation, but this central one was the most pertinent. He hadn't recognized it then, but he did now. That lab contained a strange apparatus, a pulsing, whirring cylinder, the top of which was a glowing platform with a handrail. It was one of the teleporters scattered about the alien ship, just exposed and propped up for greater analysis.

Really, he should've noticed it all before, but all the pieces fell into place now that he had the calmness necessary to think and comprehend. It'd all started when he shot Enclave's Bane at them, missing and striking the pillar. Chaos reigned after that. The pillar immediately became unstable, spewing lightning in random directions, taking out chunks from the floor and walls. Everyone had gotten for cover then. Not a minute after the incident, he'd thrown the mini-nuke (an action which had instantly panicked friend and foe alike for its insanity, as the Wanderer himself could very well have been caught in the blast). He'd averted his eyes, but when he turned back, there had been only smoke where once the monster lay. Yet the Wanderer hadn't had time to celebrate. He'd ducked away from a volley of plasma and wound up in the open, exposed to the machine. Then there was another flash of lightning, and here he was.

Here he was, triumphant. A smile broke across his face, for he'd killed Bishop Beauvais. Finally, after so long, that monster was dead. Dead and gone. Thank God for Lyons, who'd decided to ask him if he'd be willing to volunteer for the mission to hunt him down. Willing? Ha, Lyons didn't even finish asking the question before he said yes. He'd said yes, then he'd trekked with the knights across the wasteland to that lab in Richmond. Good thing they'd caught them, for who knows what would've happened once they'd unlocked the secrets of that alien tech, certainly something nefarious.

That was always the case with the Enclave.

Reminiscing aside, he was stuck in an exceptionally peculiar situation. He'd been transported to another planet—possible another universe—by a malfunctioning alien artifact. There were other explanations, of course. They were also all ridiculous in their own way, but a ridiculous cause was necessary for a ridiculous, right? He might still be dreaming, but stubbornly clinging to disbelief wouldn't do him any good, even if it was true. This might be a repeat of the Tranquility Lane fiasco, but how would he have gotten into a pod? Bishop's men would've captured, tortured and murdered him. They wouldn't have wasted time putting him in a virtual reality for no reason. With a similar explanation, he couldn't have been drugged. This was nothing like that experience at Point Lookout, and even if 'trips' differed, then there was as much reason for the Enclave to drug him as there was putting him into a VR pod: none.

This world, with its startling beauty and vitality, might make an interesting interpretation of Heaven, should it be that he'd actually died. He'd dismissed that theory instantly.

So, aliens it was. Aliens, aliens, aliens. He never thought he'd see them in the first place; he certainly never thought he'd see them a second time. That was how things worked, though, wasn't it? Always the unexpected. Still, it was a difficult explanation for him to stomach, so ludicrous it was. This was something he remembered reading in Grognak, with the titular barbarian being transported to Earth by conniving alien conspirators, subsequently battling alongside heroes such as the Silver Shroud, combatting evil and saving gorgeous damsels.

The Wanderer looked at the medical equipment around him, felt the lingering pain in his stomach. Yeah, he'd been pretty heroic thus far. He'd be dead if not for Birdman's intervention. That raider's power was one unmatched by any in the wasteland, except perhaps Bishop himself. He'd need power armor to stand any chance against him. Birdman, however, had been capable of defeating him handily. The warriors of this strange new world were closer to superheroes than soldiers.

Their skill and abilities appeared incredible. He had to have them. If this was warfare in the world, then he'd need it. His life was one endless war that survived from day to day. That was all he'd been doing the last few months in the wasteland, aimlessly surviving.

He'd be able to learn on his own, in time. Already, he'd found himself accidentally shattering the glass of orange juice he'd been given, bending the utensils he was trying to eat with. The last few hours had been an exercise in controlling his newfound strength, which wasn't actually too hard. He'd need to make sure not to crush any of his weapons once he got back to fighting, as he invariably would. Combat was an indomitable certainty. The death of others and the possibility of his own was an indomitable certainty.

He'd get out of this hospital, settle whatever debt Birdman imposed, then get back on the road. He'd restlessly meander from place to place, sleeping and eating and killing on his way, until he himself was eventually claimed, until there was no Birdman to save him, until there were no more stimpaks, until he ran out of breath and blood. Such was his destiny.

Destiny aside, he had a goal: master his new abilities. He'd already managed to learn how to inhibit his incredible strength so that he didn't break everything he touched. A good start, to be sure. He'd also need to go on and unlock whatever other powers may manifest. That raider had been able to summon wind, and Birdman could change into a crow. Perhaps he'd be able to summon fireballs after all.

Before that, he could still do some work right now, and he did. He'd had the nurse give him his pip-boy, which had been left with the rests of his belongings in his duffle bag in the corner of the room. She'd picked it up and passed it to him with her tail, both impressing and unsettling him. They evidently still had mutants here, though the kindly nurse was nothing like the ghouls or super mutants or centaurs or trogs that he'd come across before.

Clasping his Pip-Boy back onto his wrist, he booted it up and found the same information as before. Still at 25 rads, still a blank map screen, still no radio signals. Well, no signals picked up on the usual frequencies, which were reduced to static. A bit of exploring, however, landed him on a what appeared to be a music channel. A bizarre series of high-pitched, unnatural melodies combined with a synthetic female voice accosted his ears for just a few second before he turned it off. He could explore that more later, perhaps a news channel like GNR could tell him more about the world. Maybe they had a functioning library somewhere around where he could find history archives like Arlington. Thankfully, he'd actually be able to read whatever he found, for this world apparently used written and spoken English just like back home. Another piece of evidence pointing to the possibility of some kind of parallel universe... damn aliens.

He glanced back at his Pip-Boy, noticing the date. August 18th, 2228. That meant yesterday was the 17th of August, the exact day he'd left Vault 101 back in 2277. An interesting coincidence.

A sharp knock emanated from the door, taking him from his thoughts. The nurse shuffled in, a bright smile splitting her petite face. "Hello Steve," she said, not noticing how the Wanderer cringed at the name. "Your father's here to see you."

Was that so? Well, this would be interesting. The Lone Wanderer was neither deluded enough nor desperate enough to believe that Dad had come back to life, having seen the man get his brains blown out. He shivered. No, that was impossible. This was someone claiming to be his dad, for one reason or another. He hadn't sought to ask the nurse or the doctor about who this person was, for questioning someone about who your own dad is would only arouse suspicion. And suspicion was the last thing he wanted right after he'd gotten to this bizarre new place. He doubted anyone would believe his story from another universe, but they may make up stories of their own. He had a lot of experience with people fabricating reality, after all. A lot of the time, it wasn't even malicious, just cautious. If he was acting strangely, if he didn't know things he was supposed to know, that would rouse questions, questions that he couldn't answer, questions that would invariably lead to trouble.

So he'd waited all morning for his 'father' to arrive. For who this man was, he had a decent guess.

"I'll let him in now and give you some privacy," the nurse said before dutifully departing, leaving the door conveniently open.

That didn't stop Birdman from slamming past it, swinging it into the wall with a loud crash as he stumbled into the room. He blinked a few times and shook his head, then turned around and grabbed the door, smashing it closed with a crack like thunder, loud enough to wake the dead. As it was, the Wanderer only winced.

"Hey there Stevey, glad to see my little boy all good and healthy again," he said. A tell-tale slur tinged the edge of his voice. The Wanderer checked the clock on the wall, seeing that it was noon. Halfway through the day, this man was already wasted.

He stumbled over beside the Wanderer's bed and patted him on the head like he would a puppy, but that puppy only narrowed his eyes and brushed the hand away. Birdman chuckled, pacing away before dragging back a chair, which screeched achingly across the floor. He fell into it with a sigh and looked at the Wanderer for a few moments, before extending his hand. "The name's Qrow, Qrow Branwen."

After a moment's hesitation, the Wanderer shook it. Leaning back once more onto the pillows, he shifted uncomfortably under the man's lazy gaze, one finger idly beginning to tap against a fold in the blankets.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"What do you want?"

"What do you mean?"

The Wanderer growled under his breath and said, "you saved my life, what do you want in return? If you didn't want anything, you wouldn't have bothered sticking around. Stop playing with me."

Qrow regarded him curiously. His lackadaisical expression melted into one far more placid as he looked at the Wanderer, undoubtedly thinking about what he wanted, or perhaps just trying to figure out the best way to word it. The Wanderer owed him too much, after what he did for him, both in terms of this mysterious aura and his own life. Undoubtedly, the price would be steep—

"I just wanted to wait and make sure you're alright."

What?

"I'm not about to extort a kid for whatever he's worth," Qrow said. The Wanderer looked him in the eyes, where he could find no illegitimacy. There was something about the plain way he spoke, voice containing only a hint of intoxication, no malice. He recalled the way this man had stopped him during the execution, his subsequent lecture on civility. The Wanderer's hand stopped fidgeting and tapping the blankets as he sunk deeper into the sheets; a tension he didn't even realize he'd been maintaining dissipated. Murderer. Smuggler. Entertainer. Mercenary. Qrow could've made him many things with the debt he owed, and the Wanderer would've obliged. It was an unspoken rule in the wasteland that you pay back the debts you accrue, or else. Or else the person you owe hurts you or the people you care about. Or else the person you owe spreads the word that you're an ingrate, and you're cut off from help in the future. With Qrow's incredible strength, the Wanderer wouldn't have dared defy a request. He would've done anything, and his control over his own life would be null, at least for a while.

"Thank you," he said. "For saving me... and for not pushing it."

"No problem kid. Just glad to see you're safe."

"Yeah, those monsters were brutal. I think I might've turned out better, if only my magnum didn't jam. Some timing, huh?"

Qrow winced. "Sorry about that."

The Wanderer brushed away the apology with a wave of his hand. "It wasn't your fault." Qrow didn't seem satisfied, but he didn't continue, either. Instead, he moved on to a different subject, one of health.

"The doc told me you're going to make a full recovery. Anyway, a couple more days of rest and you should be back to normal again," he said, playfully punching the Wanderer's arm. "Hell, you're already in a good enough state that I could have you discharged if you want. You're too young for them to let you go by yourself, but since I'm your dad, I can just say the word and get you out."

"Yeah, why did you tell them that you're my dad, by the way? And why have they been calling me Steve all morning?"

"Meh, I knew that they wouldn't let me know all the stuff that was wrong about you if I told them I was just some random stranger you never met before," he said with a shrug. "So, I just said I'm your dad. Not like there were any records of either of us to disprove it. And being your dad, I'm kind of expected to know your name. So, I went with Steve." He leaned in and slung one hand around the Wanderer's shoulder, bringing him close by his side and pointing towards the horizon, as if marking out a brilliant, previously unknown continent. "A strong name. A noble name. A heroic name. Steve! Steve Branwen! A name for the ages!" Qrow released him and raucously laughed, spewing the scent booze as he did so.

The Wanderer cringed and looked away. His head snapped back, however, when embarrassment was replaced with understanding. "You know that they have rules like that for a reason, right? Pretty sure it's supposed to keep things private. _My_ things private."

"Oh come on, I just wanted to make sure you're okay," Qrow said with a nonchalant shrug and a dismissive wave. "Not like I could contact anyone you actually know. I was just looking out for you. I promise, I'm not interested in your privates, just your safety. You really freaked us out for a second there, since you didn't even have a heartbeat when I brought you here, but a few scans later and, well..."

The Wanderer didn't drop his scowl, it actually deepened into a snarl, but he didn't reply either. He supposed that he should've been flattered by the care. The invasion of his privacy, however, immediately made his skin crawl. They'd taken scans of his heart, for Christ's sake! Alright, calm down. Breath deep. Hold. Release. Breath deep. Hold. Release. Okay, better. Calm. He'd have to tolerate the nosiness, if it was coming from the man who'd saved him and granted him incredible power. On that subject...

"What's aura?"

"Hm?"

"What's aura?" he repeated. "I've heard the nurse and doctor talking about how much aura I've got, but I don't know what that means. They said you unlocked it for me. What is it?"

"You really don't know what aura is?" Qrow asked. The Wanderer only nodded, unease forming in his gut. Judging by the way Qrow's brow was cocked, that was a weird question to ask. Damn it. He needed to avoid suspicion, he was just thinking about that! Alright, save it. Just have to save it. Excuses. Excuses are needed. What's a good excuse? Well... the truth wouldn't be too bad. Selective truth, at least.

"I was raised in a small community. It was pretty weird, no one was allowed to enter or leave." He stopped and judged Qrow's expression for a moment, gaining confidence from the way he didn't seem to be dismissing him. "I only left the place a year ago and I've just been wandering around ever since. I honestly don't know a lot about the world. I've just been out in wild."

He must've said something right, because Qrow seemed to accept the answer, even leaning back in his seat and humming idly. For a minute, Qrow just looked at him, red eyes interested in whatever they saw. "So you grew up in a weird little group?" He nodded. "You've been running around outside the kingdoms, huh?" He nodded. "You've never even been to one of the major cities?" He nodded.

Qrow kept looking at him, before a small smirk crept onto his face. "You know kid, I used to know a guy a lot like that. Grew up with a cruddy bunch outside the kingdoms. Eventually got straight, though, went to a battle-school and became a huntsman. Maybe he still drinks a bit too much, but he's pretty damn awesome in my books." That same cocky smirk slid onto his face again. "He's a certified badass and the greatest uncle on all of Remnant."

Qrow got up from his seat and walked over the Wanderer's dufflebag, stuffed with all his equipment. He grabbed it and threw it at the Wanderer, who caught it with a grunt. It landed on his stomach, where the bandages still lay. He hid a pained gasp and glared at the man.

"Heh, come on kid. We're gonna get out of here. I know this inn around town, with some good drinks, but the innkeeper's skirt length is even better," Qrow said, raising his eyebrows a few times as he did so, his smirk growing larger and taking lecherous edge. He purged that with a light chuckle, before moving on in a more serious tone. "I've got an idea that I've been throwing around for a bit too, and I think I like it even more now. But before that, let's talk about aura and stuff, over some drinks of course. You better get dressed, unless you really want to go out in a hospital gown."

Qrow moved towards the door before stopping and fishing something out of his pocket. "By the way, those villagers scrabbled together a reward for us. They're pretty poor though, so I turned mine down. Figured I'd hold onto your share, though, see if you'd decide the same." He held the money up, flashing some multi-colored cards, perhaps this world's equivalent to caps. "You want it or not? I'm sure they could use it." The Wanderer immediately held his hand out for the money. Qrow obliged and handed it over. He tucked it into a pouch on his duffle bag for later use. Sure, those people at the town could use it, but he could use it too.

Qrow looked a little annoyed, but he didn't say anything, simply leaving the room to let him get changed. However, he stopped and turned around just as he was about to exit. "Sorry I forgot to ask, but what's your name, kid?"

* * *

"And the raider's semblance was the ability to control wind?"

"Bingo," Qrow said. "You're a quick learner, kid. After I turned him in, I learned that the guy's a third-rate huntsman from a third-rate school, who turned rogue because he didn't get the glory he was after.

"Real scum," he added. Qrow shook his head and drowned out his disgust with another swig from a full bottle. The Wanderer nursed a small glass of whiskey, which far surpassed anything he'd had in the wasteland, likely because it wasn't produced in a run-down bath-tub or an old bucket.

They were sat across from one another in a small booth nestled in the corner of the small inn. The Wanderer had chosen the seat, which had a good view of the entrance, his gaze flicking there whenever someone new came. People were stuffed inside, lending the stench of their sweat to the already colorful aroma of sour booze and cooked meat. Even though it was just a little past noon, the building was dark, with whatever light that managed to strike in through the few open cracks were strangled by the oppressive atmosphere of smoke and harsh laughter. The Wanderer had his back against the seat, which itself was placed against the wall, such that there was nothing behind but wood.

They'd gone in, placed their orders and proceeded to talk about all of the Wanderer's questions. Qrow had explained aura and semblances. The Lone Wanderer had also made out a few references to various kingdoms, namely that they were currently in the Kingdom of Mistral, near the city of Mistral itself. Just west of it, in fact. There were several things he'd been too afraid to ask of, such as where 'Mistral' was supposed to be, or what those bizarre creatures he fought were. Lacking knowledge due to a strange upbringing was reasonable only to a certain precipice, an edge that loomed over a chasm of suspicion. He would not drive anyone over that edge.

Qrow had also made references to how that man had used 'fire dust' for his spear, but he hadn't gone into detail about what exactly that was. The Wanderer doubted it was gunpowder, possible a term in this world for thermite. It could just as easily be something unique, however. He'd need to do a lot of discreet research in his own time.

Qrow continued to talk about how much training aura required. In fact, he spent several minutes stressing that people with aura needed years of professional training at battle schools in order to master their strength. Training at a good school was necessary, apparently, absolutely necessary.

"Why didn't the rest of his group have aura?" The Wanderer asked.

"Why? Well, power, that's why. Aura's a tough thing to unlock, kid. There are only two ways to get it." He raised one finger in the air. "The first way (which is both the most common way and the most accepted way) is to unlock it yourself through training and meditation. This takes years, but it's the best way, since you get to work with your aura and semblance as it grows. It's also a bit of a rite of passage, since it takes so much work and dedication." He reached for his bottle once more, drawing down a few gulps of whatever liquor waited inside, before sighing contentedly and continuing. "It's also the legal way. Huntsman and Huntresses are a pretty regulated business. Almost all of them are registered with the kingdoms' governments, but some freelancers (like me) manage to work outside of that."

That Qrow was a freelance huntsman didn't surprise the Wanderer in the slightest. This man didn't seem like he'd be willing, or even able, to follow anyone's orders. Who would put up with such a belligerent drunk anyway?

"Then there's the second way," he said, raising another finger in the air. "You can have someone who's already got aura unlock it for you, though they have to be pretty strong to do that. It's also really, _really_ illegal to unlock somebody's aura for them."

The Wanderer sighed. Great, he'd just arrived in this world, and he'd already committed a crime.

"Like I said, they like to keep things regulated, makes sense given how strong we are compared to normal civilians."

The Wanderer thought back to those poor villagers, huddled and frightened. Regulation seemed like a good idea here.

"So, let's just keep the story behind how you got your aura our little secret, okay? Just say you unlocked it real quick when you were in a rough spot, that happens sometimes in desperate situations." Qrow snorted, amused by some unsaid joke. "Well, it doesn't, but that's the classic lie for someone who had theirs unlocked for them. People think it can happen, though, that's the important part. You don't have a problem with lying, right?"

The Wanderer shook his head. Going against the law didn't scratch his conscience in the slightest, especially If it meant he'd still be alive. Then again, if this place actually had jails and Huntsman like Qrow, maybe he should follow them, or at least try.

"But that raider didn't care about the law, and neither do all of the other criminals with aura," Qrow said after another swig. "They don't unlock their goons' aura because then they could be a threat to their own power. They'll only unlock it for people they know will be loyal to them, almost like mentors or something. It's an interesting system of patronage that governs the underworld Hunstman and Huntresses."

He looked fit to continue, but for the innkeeper coming by with their orders, two bowls of beef stew. The innkeeper herself was pretty, and Qrow had been right to say that her skirt length was the main attraction, not that there was anything else worth looking at. Well, nothing pleasant. The inn wasn't dissimilar to the places that the Wanderer had visited in the wasteland. That wasn't a compliment. Sat in the booth, back against the wall, he glared furtively at anyone and everyone who passed by them. The innkeeper, however, got a less harsh gaze. She was nice enough. Sure, she may have spared a lingering look at his face when he first ordered, but it wasn't the sorts of stares that he'd accrued thus far.

"Here you go boys, enjoy the meal," she said.

"You too," the Wanderer replied. He instantly winced at the slight of words. Whether or not the innkeeper noticed, he had no idea. She only smiled and walked away—she also made a point of not looking at his face this time. Nice indeed.

The two men stopped their conversation and started digging in, a comfortable silence falling between them. It was delicious. Compared to seared radroach and molerat jerky, it was one of the best things he'd eaten in his entire life. Chunks of juicy beef, flavorful slices of carrot and cuts of onion intermingled in a steaming broth that lit up his taste buds. It was devoured in a minute.

"Man Steve, looks like you're still growing, huh?"

"Please don't call me Steve..."

"Well, tell me your name and I'll call you that."

The Wanderer looked up at the grizzled man, who stared back. He'd reneged on sharing his name with Qrow. He'd reneged on sharing it with anyone for months. 'The Lone Wanderer' practically _was_ his name. It was a title he carried, a title he'd earned. Everyone in the Capitol Wasteland and beyond would recognize that name. This wasn't the wasteland, however, so he'd simply told Qrow nothing.

"You know, I helped raise two teen girls. I thought I knew what teen angst was, I really did. But you're bringing the edginess to a whole 'nother level with this stuff," Qrow said, shaking his head with a sigh. "Maybe you think you gotta live up to that scar or something, but you don't. Sheesh, when are you going to get that I haven't got anything out for ya? I'm even paying for the drinks"

It was nothing personal, it really wasn't. He could understand why Qrow may be a bit frustrated with the Wanderer's decision not to share his name, but the man honestly didn't understand that he'd already gotten quite far. Qrow was the first person to see his face in months.

He hadn't taken the Filtration Helmet off with people around ever since he got back from the Pitt, which was at least half a year ago. If the Wanderer had had his way, then Qrow still wouldn't have seen his face. He didn't keep it hidden because of the scar, as some might think. It didn't embarrass him, ugly as it was. It was a streak of darkened, gnarled flesh that crept out from the muddy, crimson cesspool that was his right eye. It stretched from his eye out across his cheekbone, a stain on his visage. The eye of itself was just as ugly, both iris and sclera reduced to a murky shade red, like blood spilled in dirty water. Only the pure black pupil had been spared from corruption.

He didn't care about it, though. He'd only ever worn the mask to keep his face hidden from any who may recognize it, but that wouldn't be a relevant concern anymore. Still, the glances it garnered only drew attention, and attention of any kind was inherently bad.

"Alright, alright, you want to keep being mister mysterious, you can. Let me just finish eating and we can get back to talking," Qrow said. He dove back into his stew, while the Wanderer fished out the pack of cigarettes and lighter from his duffle bag. He took one from the pack, put it between his lips and set it ablaze.

"You smoke?"

"Hm? Yeah, why?"

"A kid your age really shouldn't be smoking, that stuff'll kill you."

"Says the man with a rotten liver."

"Hey, I'm well past forty. I get to do some things you can't. Even then, I don't smoke. Come on, I got a niece your age, I can't help myself. You do know that that'll kill you, right?"

"I'll die a long time before these cigarettes get me."

"Is that a fact?"

"It is."

Qrow turned back to his stew and his bottle, letting the cigarette burn. When the Wanderer finished his whiskey, he pulled out the flask from his duffle bag as well. Between the smoke and the alcohol, this was working out to be a nice time. Qrow brought the bottle to his lips once more, only to shoot it a nasty glare, as if it was the bottle's fault for running empty. He let it fall back to the table, but the disappointment in his eyes fled when he caught sight of the Wanderer's flask.

"Oh yeah, I saw that. What's in it anyway?"

"Wait, when did you see it?"

"Ummm... I might've taken a look at your stuff while you were out. Might. Maybe. Just a little." He rubbed his neck and coughed. "I just wanted to see if you had anything that could've ID'd you... or maybe I was just curious. Definitely one of those. Maybe both. Maybe."

The Wanderer had left the flask on the table just a moment before, a good act, given that he would've crushed it had he been holding it. As it were, he settled for splintering the wooden table they were sat at. He would've torn it in two, if not for a quick installation of discipline.

This man had saved his live. This man had saved his life. This man had saved his life. He could also annihilate you at any moment, so just let it slide. Breath deep. Hold. Release. This guy who's seen your face and rooted through your stuff and took it upon himself to act as your dad. This crazy alcoholic who's barged into your private life in a way that you'd never willingly let him.

Asshole.

Asshole who saved your life.

The Wanderer, exasperated, sighed and slumped back into his seat. If his rescuer had no respect for boundaries, then so be it. He'd be off and away from the man soon enough anyway. He'd train with his aura, battling more Grimm and raiders until he became proficient. Who knows, maybe Remnant would know the Lone Wanderer just as the Capital Wasteland had. He'd need to put in a lot of training, though, especially since he wouldn't be attending a battle school. Qrow had actually mentioned those schools a lot...

"So, are you gonna let me have a taste, or what?"

"Huh?"

"What, did you space out again?" Qrow asked, waving his hand in front of the Wanderer's face. "Can I get a taste of whatever you're drinking there?"

"No." He saved your life. "Ugh, fine." He passed the flask over. "Just be careful to only take a sip. It's strong stuff." The Wanderer only ever took sips at a time, cautiously.

"Heh, I'll be the judge of that!" Qrow took a swig, face instantly twisting. He spat it out and shook his head. "Gods, kid! What is that stuff?"

"Point Lookout moonshine. It's got a bit of local fruit in it, yeast and..." He hesitated. Something told him that Qrow wouldn't appreciate the last ingredient.

"What? Come on, you can tell me."

"Battery acid..." he muttered.

"What!?" Qrow looked at the flask incredulously. "You're drinking battery acid here?"

"Hey, it's just a little bit. If you don't want it, hand it back."

"Sheesh, won't argue with that," Qrow said, returning the flask. The Wanderer stashed it back into his bag and got back to his cigarette. Qrow, however, didn't plan on just relaxing. "Steve, why don't you tell me a bit about where you're from?" The Wanderer's fingers tightened around the cigarette, crumpling it. "I'm just a little curious."

Shit.

"Uhhh... uhhh... I-I come from a wasteland..."

"Wasteland, huh? You mean Vacuo? The Vacuo wastes?"

"Yeah..."

"Damn, that must've been rough."

"Oh yeah, I left my home about a year ago, and I've been in the wastes ever since. Well, until I wound up here."

"And how did you wind up here? Mistral's a long way from Vacuo."

Shit.

"I... I woke up on a beach."

"Shipwreck, huh?"

"Yeah..."

"Where were you headed."

"Nowhere in particular."

"Is that still the case?"

"It is."

The Wanderer didn't like the look of Qrow's smile. He was up to something, that much was certain. The alcoholic had mentioned something about an idea before they'd left the clinic, but he'd yet to bring it up. He'd figured that giving the man time to bring it up himself would be for the best, but now he wasn't so sure.

"Kid, when do you consider it okay to kill someone?"

The Wanderer scowled. It was a question from nowhere, and Qrow's smile had dropped. The man was staring at him intensely now, waiting for the answer. Oddly, he was more comfortable talking about this than he was his past. Whereas he couldn't talk about an adequate lie for his past, he could definitely talk about death. It's always easier for people to talk about what they're familiar with.

"I guess it depends on the situation. It doesn't take a lot, honestly." He shrugged. "Back home, people kill and get killed all the time. It's just how things are done. If you steal something and get caught, chances are you'll be murdered."

"Would you do that? Kill someone who stole from you?"

That actually made him think for a moment. "Again, it depends. Depends on who they are and why they're doing it. If it's some raider scum like the guys we ran into before, then yeah, I'll kill him. If it was just someone who was hungry and wanted my food, I'd beat him senseless and leave."

"Really? You'd leave behind someone who's starving?"

"Hey, I've almost starved a couple times myself. I've even had to steal just to get by. I didn't get caught, but I wouldn't blame them for hurting me if I had been."

Qrow raised an eyebrow curiously, and he waved his hand as a gesture for him to continue.

"That's just how things work. I'd at least take the time to analyze the situation first, because not everyone deserves to die. Some people aren't that nice, though." He drew his finger across his neck, miming a fatal cut. "Some people would kill instantly. Others are nicer, maybe give up some food. I'm neither. I'm a mortal. I kill people. I've killed plenty of people, and I've seen plenty of people be killed. I've almost been killed plenty of times myself." He shrugged. "What happened before back in that village is nothing new for me. It's a world of life and death that I come from. I make my decisions and I stick to them."

"So you don't feel bad at all for killing people? For torturing them?"

"No, no I don't."

"Are there any you do feel bad for?"

"Just two."

"Two?"

"Exactly two."

"Are you going to tell me?"

"Hell no."

"Fair enough."

The Wanderer chafed under Qrow's gaze. His bare face being intently studied was a new experience, having his helmet off at all around another was new. It didn't help that Qrow's expression gave no bearing on his thoughts.

"So you've seen a lot, huh?" Qrow finally asked.

"Yeah, yeah I have."

"I could tell. You've got that look on you. You're not the kind to get afraid, are you?"

"No, no I'm not. Not anymore. I've seen dead kids and dead men and dead women." He shrugged. "Not a lot to get afraid of after that."

Qrow continued to stare at him. The Wanderer's fidgeted with his cigarette, twirling the burnt tip, flinging minuscule motes of ash into the air. Why was Qrow asking these questions? Was he trying to write a book about him or something? No, there had to be some sort of purpose now, beyond just curiosity.

"What's your idea?"

"Hmm?"

"Your idea, the one you talked about earlier. What is it? I figure that's why you took me out here, right?"

"You'd figure correctly."

"Well, what is it?"

Qrow brought one hand up to his chin, absentmindedly rubbing his stubble, continuing to study the Wanderer. He was thinking, thinking about him. He was considering, perhaps reconsidering. Who knew what was going on behind those red eyes?

"Kid, things are hard here," he finally answered, hunching over and speaking in a hoarse whisper. "The Grimm are merciless and strong, and there are people out there just as bad. Everybody knows about Grimm and criminals, but I know about them better than damn near anyone else. There are some people out there who _are_ fear." Qrow's brow drooped into a scowl, undoubtedly thinking about this 'fear'. "But I've got a feeling you already know a lot about people like that, huh?"

The Lone Wanderer nodded.

"You've killed people like that?"

He nodded.

"They don't make you afraid?"

"Not anymore."

A smile broke onto Qrow's face, thought it was taut and devoid of mirth. "We need good, strong Huntsman, people who won't flinch when they need to do what's got to be done."

"Okay..."

"Have you ever heard of a place called Beacon Academy?"

"No."

"It's a battle school, the best in all of Vale, one of the best in all of Remnant. How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"That's the age they start accepting first-year applicants."

It wasn't hard to get the picture from here.

"You want me to go to this school?"

"That I do. The deadline for applications was months ago, but I've got a lot of pull with that place. I'm friends with the Headmaster himself." Qrow snapped his fingers for emphasis. "Once you get in, you get free room and board. Everyone who graduates instantly become a registered Huntsman or Huntress. Usually, you have to come from a battle school beforehand, have references, a good record, experience, blah, blah, blah." Qrow made a parodying gesture with one hand, moving his fingers like a talking mouth before stopping and looking at him again. Oddly, he always switched quickly between teasing and seriousness. "I can get you in with a letter."

The Wanderer's eyes narrowed. "Why? Why do you want me in?"

"There's a lot of reasons. You remind me of that guy I mentioned, the awesome one. Remind me of my nieces, too. Besides that, you're a damn good fighter."

The Wanderer took a drag from his cigarette.

"But that's not all. It's because you don't get afraid. Most of the Huntresses and Huntsman going into Beacon are too damn idealistic for their own good. They think they can stop every bad guy and save every person. They don't know fear."

The Wanderer took another drag.

"You do. You've seen war, that much is obvious. You've got what it takes to make it through whatever comes to Remnant. I'm interested in keeping humanity safe, and I think that people like you are needed."

"People like me? They need killers? You know that's what I am, right? I'm no hero."

"Says the guy who attacked bandits and was ready to give his life to save a little kid."

The Wanderer took another drag, fingers once more crumpling the cigarette.

"Listen, you don't need to be a hero. In fact, that's what I'm getting at. You're not. You just know how things work. You won't be fazed by whatever terrible stuff happens, where other people your age will."

"So you want to recruit me because I'm a sociopath?"

"I want to recruit you because you're capable of doing things that other people wouldn't do, that other people _couldn't_ do."

"Like kill and torture?"

Qrow's silence was telling. So that was it, was it? He was unique in his depravity. A hint of a smile formed on his face, a bitter little curl of the lips. He supposed that it was unique, that someone capable of such violence would also have heart enough not to turn it on civilians.

"Come on kid. I won't force you to go, this is completely your decision. Don't feel like you have to, but I'm sure as Hell gonna try and convince you." Qrow leaned forward, hands open as if he was physically offering him something. "This is a premier battle school we're talking about. If you want a testament to how good it is, I'll tell you that I graduated from the place myself."

The Wanderer look at Qrow again. It definitely was a testament. There was no doubting the man's power, not after the incredible display he'd shown against both the raider and the Grimm. Honestly, he was tempted. For a second. He took one more drag.

"No."

"Huh?" Qrow looked honestly confused. "What for?"

"It sounds like you want to make me your pawn. I've already fought in other people's wars for them and it didn't end well for me on any occasion. I don't work for anyone, not anymore."

"Oh come on kid, no one's gonna control you. Hell, once you graduate, you can become a freelancer like me. It's simple."

"Is it?"

"It is."

The Wanderer didn't believe him. "There something else here, I know that. There's always something else. You're trying to manipulate me. You want something."

"I want another Huntsman here in the world, helping to protect it. That's the honest truth." The Wanderer stared at him, but Qrow's face gave no sign of illegitimacy. Still, there was something more here. Something that he wasn't being told.

"What happened?"

"Hm?"

"You're trying to recruit me, like for a war. So, what happened? I doubt this came out of the blue, since you won't let it drop."

Qrow rubbed at his stubble. He rolled his head from side to side, considering the prospects and scrutinizing the Wanderer. Both of them had been doing a lot of that, studying the other. Driven by mutual curiosity—some mutual distrust, as well—they'd each taken in much of the other during their time together. Eventually, however, Qrow sighed and spoke:

"There's been an attack, someone important's been hurt. Someone important to me, important to a lot of people. It happened just a couple weeks ago, and I've been chasing after them ever since." He scowled at his absent foe. "That's what I was doing out there by the village, looking for answers. While you were out, I interviewed some of them but came out empty-handed... again." The scowl faded and a smile sprung in its place. "Though, not really. I got you. You've got a lot of potential kid, and the only reason I want you to go to Beacon is so that you can harness that and keep moving forward. Move forward and never stop. I want you to train and get better, so this same thing doesn't happen again."

"Care to get a little more specific on what happened? Who was attacked? Just so I know a bit more about what's going on?"

"Yeah, yeah I do, actually. That's something I won't share. Hell, I've been pretty damn lenient with you this whole time, considering what I've been saying. But I just want an answer: are you in?"

The Wanderer took another long drag from his cigarette.

"No."

"Oh, come on."

"I said no. I won't get roped into any of this. I just want to go on my way. I'll train with my aura and get better. I'll hit the road just like I always have."

"You're going to train with your aura?"

"Didn't I just say that?"

"Yeah, yeah you did. I'm just wondering: do you even have any idea where to start with that?"

The Wanderer opened his mouth to respond. Nothing came. Honestly, he had no idea where he'd begin. He just supposed that he could try and summon fireballs for a while until something neat finally happened. Maybe fight some more Grimm and raiders, learn from experience.

"I figured. Kid, you had your aura unlocked for you. That means you have no idea how to properly use it. Aura doesn't just exist, it can be used, focused." Qrow's arm snapped and he formed a fist, which flashed red and crackled with energy. "But it takes a lot of training to do that. If you'd unlocked it yourself, then you'd already be pretty close with it, but you didn't. You're gonna need more time to get used to things and master it, and you can only really unlock your full potential if you have the proper training. Go out in the wild, and there's a better chance of you dying than anything else." Now, it was Qrow's turn to draw his finger across his neck.

The Wanderer twirled his cigarette.

"Beacon has some of the best teachers in all of Remnant. They'll work with you every step of the way. They'll help you find and master your semblance. They'll help you learn to manipulate your aura. I'm sure you've already noticed how much stronger you are?" The Wanderer looked down at his hands, noticed the cracked and broken table. "Well, with proper training, you can do even more. Sure, you can go out in the field and learn from experience, but it'll take a Hell of a lot longer, and you might never get as good, either. Training kid, training." Qrow whistled and looked away, letting the Wanderer stew in thought. "You do you, Steve, but whatever you do, you won't do it well without training."

The Wanderer tapped a finger against his cigarette. Training. Training was incredibly important, that much he knew. He'd gotten years of it in the vault ever since he scored "guard" on the GOAT when he was ten. It was only that training which had allowed him to survive in the wasteland. It had formed a base on which all of his experience had been added, building up into a formidable structure of skill and ruthlessness on the battlefield. Perhaps the same would be necessary here. After all, combat here was vastly different from Earth. Aura and semblances changed everything. He'd need training not just to master his own aura, but to build the skills necessary to stand up against other Huntsman and Huntresses. That raider was just one of many, and without proper training, someone like that could destroy him.

But he'd invariably be roped into this little cause of Qrow's. He said he was personal friends with the Headmaster, which meant that this man probably held the same sort of views, views that he would impress upon the Wanderer. Obviously, they wanted to use him for something. Use him as a pawn against whatever 'fear' he'd mentioned. If he went to Beacon, they'd try their hardest to bring him into the fold. Then again... who said he had to put up with it for all four years? He could go there for a while, just long enough to increase his skills. Then, once he'd managed to distinguish himself and reach a level he was comfortable with, he could just leave. He could escape and go back on the road, living one day to the next, until the sun set on his last. He ground his cigarette into the table, putting it out before flicking it away.

"Alright, I'll go."

Qrow broke out into a large smile. "I knew you had it in you kid. Let's see, I'll just whip up a letter of recommendation real quick and send a message to the Headmaster. " He clapped his hands and said, "but there's one last thing you're gonna have to do."

The Wanderer's eyes narrowed.

"Oh come on, don't look at me like that. I just need you to actually tell me your name, unless you _want_ to be Steve Branwen. Though I think my family's already weird enough without me adopting you."

He looked at him, face twisting into a scowl. He'd have to give him his real name, wouldn't he? They certainly wouldn't accept 'Lone Wanderer'. He considered making up a name on the spot, but nothing came to mind. He mulled it over some more, Qrow allowing him to continue in that pensive state. No one had called him by his name in a long time.

He looked away around the inn, still thinking. He saw a few scrubby Huntsman standing together, some dressed in outfits truly ridiculous. The accumulation of interesting attire harkened back to times past, to the Halloweens that he would spend back in the vault. The gruff posturing of some of them also remind him of Butch, who'd bullied him quite harshly on one particular Halloween for his choice of costume.

Qrow's frustration finally bubbled into full exasperation. "Look kid, it's really not a hard question, what's your name?"

Name. Name, name, name. What's in a name? The thought struck him from nowhere. What's in a name? His father had forced him to read plenty of Shakespeare growing up, even outside of official class lessons. What's in a name, indeed. After all, that which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. No one had called him by his real name in a long time, if only because he'd hidden behind the mask and refused to say. But did it really matter what he was called? Lone Wanderer was just a title he'd used to be clandestine, a problem no longer relevant. Not like he could take advantage of the reputation anymore, either. It would still feel strange to be called by his real name again. Then again, it was just a set of words used for identification. It was the same with any another name, any other alias. If that's the case, then just give him one.

"My name's Jaune Arc."

* * *

 **AN: And progress is made. Jaune is on his way to Beacon, and it's only a matter of time before he meets up with the main cast and the events of canon begin to occur. In fact, we'll be seeing several more familiar faces next weekend, with Chapter 4. Going by the current plan, which is somewhat tentative, then we should be done with the prologue and at the start of the series in Chapter 5.**

 **We've also now learned a bit more about how he's here, who his 'monster' is, some of his stats and his personality.**

 **As always, any and all reviews and/or questions are encouraged and appreciated!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Alright, next chapter. I was a little afraid that people wouldn't like the last one, since it was mostly just one conversation, but I'm glad it turned out well. Without further ado, let's get going.**

* * *

He'd just wanted a drink, really.

"What do you mean, I need an ID?"

"I mean, you need an ID. Otherwise, how am I supposed to know you're at least 18?"

"Huh, why do I need to be 18?"

"Because it's the law, kid. I can't serve you drinks if you're too young, now beat it."

Ahh... laws. His mortal enemy.

Alright, perhaps that was a little dramatic, but as he walked away from the bar, he couldn't help but curse this imposing exercise of civility. Back in the wasteland, laws were just suggestions. All you had to worry about was maybe the regulators or anyone you wronged getting back at you. Even in 'civilized' places like Rivet City, laws were few and applied only to the most extreme, such as violence, theft or the like. He'd never heard of laws restricting something benign like alcohol, or even chems. Well, except for the Brotherhood, though they didn't really count, being a military organization.

He'd need to be careful about that; laws. Maybe there was some sort of manual that would tell him all of the basic rules of this new world. He'd already learned that he wasn't allowed to smoke in some places, which was a little weird.

He sighed and stalked away. There were others at the bar, and his glare flitted between the them all as he passed by, scrutinizing each movement. Everyone else had alcohol... bastards. He wasn't an alcoholic or anything, but he'd run out of moonshine a few days ago, and a decent drink every now and again was just what he needed to take the edge off. And he really did have an edge, being around so many people. They all moved and shifted and talked, maybe about him. His gaze narrowed as he left the bar, also keeping sure to listen in on their conversation, lest any of it be relevant.

"Can you believe Rebecca did that?"

"Hey man, can I take this chair?"

"So... you here by yourself?"

"Wow, someone stole all your laundry? That sucks man... "

The cacophony evaporated as he marched out into the hallway, shuffling with his back tilted towards the wall. The ground suddenly shifted beneath him. His stomach flopped over on itself, and he nearly vomited. Again. Maybe it was good that he hadn't gotten a drink. Well, it would've been better if he could get a smoke. He'd been limiting himself to just one a day, when he normally went through at least two, since he had no idea when he would next be able to buy some. Wait, what if they had rules about how old you had to be to buy cigarettes, too!?

The Wanderer continued to curse civilization as he made his way. Both his hands were clasped together in front of him, a relatively inconspicuous way to be ever prepared for an assault, such that he could quickly bring up his arms to the ready. As he walked by someone, one hand instinctively fell at his waist, where Crocea Mors would have been held if he'd been allowed to carry it aboard. As it was, he'd needed to leave it in storage until they landed.

Ugh, and he'd been so excited at first, too. No smokes, no drinks, no weapons. Riding on an airship really wasn't as cool as he thought it would be.

He walked past several large windows, not waiting to glance out at the incredible view, which would only distract him from his surroundings, from anyone who might come near. The first several days had been largely composed of him staring in awe outside of the tiny porthole window in his room, enraptured by the incredible sight of the transient ground below. The land exploded with forests and mountains and villages of all sizes, bursting forth with life. Then land had given way to sea, and the brilliant sapphire caught light from the sun with its innumerable little ripples, producing a glittering field of tiny white flames that winked in and out of existence as he stared.

He'd spent hours upon hours gazing at it all as the airship floated by. It was a compulsion, a picture of beauty and life such that he'd never dared to comprehend, living in a world barren. Even after several weeks, the occasionally glance could still steal his breath away.

He could sightsee once he got back to his room. Rushing through the halls, back towards the wall, glaring at anyone and everyone passing by, he eventually stalked back into his room and locked the door.

Quickly scanning the area, he found it was all the same as he'd left it. A tiny sliver of space with only a cot and barely enough room for his two bags. The trash can was stuffed and nearly overflowing with containers with which he'd carried food back from the cafeteria in hurried trips, along with the remains of the meals they'd made. A week's worth of frugal eating was smashed into the can, which had been emptied out a week before, having been similarly full. The smell was unpleasant, but it beat going outside, and it was certainly better than letting anyone in.

There was a sharp knock at the door. "Housekeeping!"

He leapt for the peephole, looking through and seeing an elderly woman with a cart full of cleaning supplies. "Beat it!" The woman started back, before scowling and moving further down.

Scrutinizing her until she was out of sight, he eventually stepped away and sat down on the cot, hard and unyielding. He could've slept on the floor for all it was worth. Still, at least he was alone. The ratty freighter ship carried mostly cargo, but it also had a small passenger section, mostly dirt-cheap barracks. He'd paid a lot more for a private room, even one so small, but it was worth it. He felt in his pockets, nearly empty of lien, gone was both the villagers' reward and a small stipend from Qrow. Oh well, he was alone, and that it made it worthwhile.

He booted up the pip-boy and flipped through the notes, examining the time and place that Qrow had schedule for him. He'd need to meet with a representative of Beacon for a final interview which would either confirm or deny his acceptance. So it wasn't guaranteed, even if Qrow promised that his letter would hold weight. Letter... 'letter'. Sheesh, how was he going to explain _that_?

He shook his head, logistics aside, there was still work to be done. He switched his pip-boy to the radio page and scrolled through the various frequencies provided by the airship until he got the right one.

"—ikos endorses Pumpkin Pete's! You too can be a champion with our great breakfast!"

Nope.

"—elcome back to Nicolas and Karen's comedy hour!"

Nope.

"—all in one news station. We're continuing our special broadcasting of excerpts from the famed documentary series 'World of Remnant'. Today's topic: The History of Menagerie."

Bingo.

The Wanderer let his pip-boy play, idly listening as he unzipped his duffle bag and rooted through its contents. He sat on the floor and placed the desired materials on his cot, inspecting them for the umpteenth time that trip. Even if he'd been forced to hand over his weapons, the airship authorities had allowed him to keep the shattered remains of both Metal Blaster and Enclave's Bane, each too far gone to be any threat.

For now.

The equipment he had was nothing compared to what he needed to get them working, let alone fully restored. The Tesla Cannon's barrel was hoepelessly crushed, and Metal Blaster's wave/particle diverter was completely broken, which was required in order to use the MF cells and actually create the damn lasers. Everything he'd seen suggested that this world wouldn't have the spare parts necessary, as dust, aura and semblances had resulted in radically different weaponry than Earth. There wasn't even anything nuclear here. That meant he needed to work from scratch.

He examined both of his weapons, which essentially had opposite problems. The driving force behind Metal Blaster's power was gone, likely irreplaceable in this new world. His laser rifle's barrel and general frame could be salvaged, its inner-working repaired, but it'd be useless with no power. The MF cells were nothing more than radioactive junk now that the diverter was destroyed. He traced a finger over the crushed weapon.

"Maybe I can power it with dust?"

No, dust certainly wasn't strong enough to generate laser beams the way a nuclear reaction could. That might work with Enclave's Bane, but a hopelessly twisted frame and barrel put it out of use, even if the tesla coil behind the actual shots remained intact. The biggest problem here was that he wasn't a scientist or an engineer. At best, he was a mechanic. He could repair the thing if it was broken, but he couldn't remake it after it was destroyed, even if he had the coil. If he somehow could, then he may potentially be able to use electric dust to charge the tesla coil, which required less power than a full nuclear reaction, thus he'd be able to overcome the limited ammo problem he now had. But that was just wishful thinking. The Tesla Coil required a specified chassis designed around Earth's duraframe steel, which was necessary to channel the coil's energy. Examination had revealed that a significant amount of the cannon's structure was missing, probably carried off into the ocean back when he first came here. That meant he'd need to get more duraframe... which was synthesized with nuclear technology. There would be literally none of it on this entire planet. Even back on Earth, only advanced weapons had duraframe in them, like laser and plasma rifles such as Metal Blaster

He looked back and forth between the two weapons, examining Metal Blaster's intact frame and destroyed core, then Enclave's Bane's destroyed frame and intact core. The Wanderer hummed, then took a few tools and removed the Tesla Coil from its ruined weapon, placing it on top of Metal Blaster, where the diverter had previously been.

"Huh... it'd take some work... but that might do..."

Any more thoughts were interrupted by a harsh, static-filled screech as the airship's intercom booted up. "Attention all passengers, we will be landing in Vale within the hour. Please be prepared to disembark."

Is that so? Well, then he might be able to see it from his window. He got up from the floor and look out the tiny porthole. The tools in his hands clattered to the floor.

He'd seen cities before. Well, he'd seen the paltry communities that the wasteland could muster, and he'd been fool enough to call those cities. Rivet City. Megaton. Ridiculous. Those were nothing more than shantytowns compared to this. This, _this_ was a city.

The buildings stretched North, South, East, West and even up into the sky, and they didn't all look ready to collapse at any moment. Unlike everything else he'd ever seen, nothing here was centuries old and subjected to a nuclear holocaust. The paint shone vibrant, the metal still gleamed, the brick didn't crumble. Everywhere he looked he saw a champion of humanity: electric lights, modest skyscrapers, thousands of buildings, a clean sky, others airships flying about. He was witnessing a world with a luxury he'd never before the seen: the luxury of civilization. True, honest to goodness civilization. This was what places like DC and the Pitt must've looked like, long, long ago. Everything sparkled under the sun, nice and new and fresh and beautiful. A strange lethargy settled within him, a sort of awed relaxation that compelled him to stand still and bask in this human glory.

He couldn't wait to be immersed in it.

* * *

He couldn't wait to get the Hell out of this.

Someone bumped against his shoulder, and he twisted instantly to see who they were, one hand falling back on his magnum. He saw only a startled, middle-aged business who quickly gathered himself and went on his way. The Wanderer would've continued staring at him, were it not for the dozen other people around him, were it not for the blare of car horns and the constant rumble of their wheels and engines, potentially masking the sound of anyone who wished to sneak up on him.

He glanced at every detail, every person. Occasionally he would even have a second of eye-contact with someone, though they would immediately flash away and stop looking at him. Did that person look away too quickly? Had they been watching him, and only when he looked back, had they been startled and tried to furtively disguise themselves? What about her? She just walked close by, was she trying to get a good look. Damn it, I wish I had eyes on the back of my head! I'm in the middle of a crowd! There! That window, someone's in it, and they just closed the blind. What if they were looking at me!?

He kept his hand always on the hilt of Crocea Mors, shoulders hitched, ready at any moment to strike. He must have looked similar to a deathclaw just before it pounced. He snapped his head back behind him, then forward again, then back again, then forward again. His breathing quickened. No, no this wasn't good.

Breath deep. Hold. Release.

He pressed close to the side of the street, nearby the buildings, where he could cover one side of himself, where he was able to his body tilted ever so slightly such that his back largely faced the wall, covering his rear flank. This was necessary. So many people were here, and any one of them could harbor some sort of ill-will against him. Who? Why? To those questions, he had no answer. But attacks had come out of the blue plenty of times before, so he wouldn't let them happen again. Granted, he had no enemies in this world.

That he knew of.

Simple muggers, robbers or people who found him somehow useful to their machinations, whatever those might be. He was immersed in a center of human vitality, and humanity is innately insidious.

Even as he scanned for threats, he looked for something else as well. And it wasn't long until he found it: a bathroom.

He ducked inside and quickly got into the largest stall, dropping both of his bags. He shoved the duffle bag aside and pulled open the other, which he'd acquired on the airship. It was a simple sack he'd stolen from a housekeeping cart. Its contents were similarly acquired. There was someone on the airship who was really unhappy that their entire wardrobe was no longer theirs, but too bad. The Wanderer had taken care to find someone about his size, then linger in the laundry room until they eventually used it.

It's not like he had any money to buy his own, after all. He was still wearing the single pair of ratty wastelander clothes he'd come to this world with, having wrapped up and stuffed the armor into the duffle bag. Aura rendered it useless to him, as armor in this world was only good as a crutch for weaker Huntsman and Huntresses, or weak civilians and soldiers without aura. He had no intention of being weak.

He changed and stepped out of the stall, throwing his old clothes into the trash and observing himself in the mirror. He nodded appreciatively. Not half bad. If it weren't for the scar, he might even pass for somewhat handsome. The guy he'd stolen from had good fashion sense, since the Wanderer hadn't been in such a nice pair of clothes for a while. The entire outfit was composed of varying shades of blue, with the pants, shoes and a loose light jacket being dark blue. He left the jacket unbuttoned, showing off his shirt, which was a lighter shade. The varying palette juxtaposed but didn't clash, working well together. It fit him well, too. Good, since he' be wearing this for quite a while. This had apparently been the guy's favorite or something, since his load of laundry had comprised only several sets of this one outfit, all blue.

The Wanderer didn't waste any more time gawking, however, for he had an interview to get to.

* * *

The Beacon Offices in Vale. Apparently, the school was outside of the city, and they liked to maintain a presence within the urban area in order to conveniently keep ties. It was also where they met with prospective students.

It was just an office in a larger building in downtown Vale, nothing special and nothing more than what was necessary. The Wanderer could appreciate that. As it was, he'd passed by a number of garish buildings which allowed flashiness to exude from every brick, the exact opposite of everything he'd ever seen in his life before now. This was a place of extravagance. He frowned. He'd also passed by some homeless, shuffling about, crumpled cardboard signs begging for scraps held in their hands. Excess and destitution side by side. Regardless, he wouldn't be preachy, since he himself had skirted past every beggar who came close to him, pretending they didn't exist even as they held their hands and gave out their sob stories. Between the ticket for the airship and the meal plan for it, he'd been left with only ten lien.

He wasn't a charity. He didn't give things away for free.

He sighed and shook his head, both clearing his thoughts and taking another look of his surroundings. All clear. Well, mostly clear. He tilted his head and looked down the street. There was a little boy crying on the curbside. He was being dutifully masculine about it, not making a sound, only given away by shuddering shoulders. The Wanderer looked back at the office building doors, then checked his pip-boy. He only had about 15 minutes left. He looked again at the crying child, then again at the door.

He sighed and stomped down the street.

"Hey kid, what's wrong?"

The child looked up in surprise, then, as is typical for stubborn little kids, looked back away and muttered, "nothing." He even tried to subtly wipe his eyes and nose.

The Wanderer looked down at the ground in front of the boy, where the splattered remains of an ice cream cone lay. "You dropped your ice cream?"

"I didn't drop it!" He yelled, suddenly filled with anger. "My stupid sister came over and knocked it out of my hands! She's two years older than me and, and, and she thinks she can just do whatever she wants!" He looked away again, face falling once more into a sullen droop. "It cost me five lien for that... I did my own chores and everything."

The Wanderer looked at him for a few seconds. He sighed. "Here you go, kid. Go get something even better and rub it into your sister's face, will ya?" He held out the ten-lien note.

"What? Really?" The boy's eyes immediately glimmered with a new kind of hope. Innocent. An innocent hope for something as benign and innocent as a spilled ice cream cone

The Wanderer nodded.

The boy broke out into a wide smile and excitedly snatched the money. "Thanks mister, thanks so much!" He gave the Wanderer a quick hug about the waist and scurried off, giggling innocently. So innocently.

The Wanderer scowled. He put his fingers into his pocket once more, feeling the emptiness there. Damn it... oh well. He turned back towards the office building, hoping he'd be able to find the right room in time. He really could have used that money. The recent memory of the boy's smile flashed through his mind, an innocent showing of joy. Pure. The scowl instantly faded. He sighed once more as he pushed his way into the building.

He wasn't a charity. He didn't give things away for free.

* * *

He arrived not a moment too soon. The door to the waiting room had just barely closed when the door to the office itself opened. A stern looking woman entered the waiting room and looked around for just a second before her eyes landed on him. An awkward moment rolled by. Ah damn, he was supposed to say something, wasn't he? With just a moment's hesitation as he felt the words in his mouth, he spoke.

"I'm Jaune Arc," said the Lone Wanderer.

"Glynda Goodwitch," the woman replied. Her speech was curt but not impolite. She turned and around and gestured for him to follow her into the office, which he did, setting his bags against the wall as the door closed behind them. Alright, straight to business. He could appreciate that.

She stepped behind a plain desk. As she sat down, her ramrod posture, air of command and blonde hair couldn't help but conjure images of Sarah. Images that the Wanderer instantly swept from his head as he sat opposite to her.

"Allow me to formally introduce myself," she said. "I am Glynda Goodwitch, the Deputy Headmistress of Beacon Academy. Aside from the Headmaster himself, I am among the highest authorities at our school." She paused to adjust her glasses, letting the Wanderer digest the information.

He sat a little bit straighter.

"Normally, I don't interview applicants, but this is a special case. The school year begins in less than a week, that we would even consider accepting someone so late is highly abnormal." She paused once more to adjust her glasses, and the Wanderer got the sinking suspicion that she may very well be doing that on purpose. "However, a recommendation from Qrow Branwen is not something to be taken lightly. In his message to us, he said that he entrusted you with a more formal letter of recommendation, may I see it now?"

The Lone Wanderer gulped. God damn it Qrow. Still, he dutifully reached into his pocket to pull out the 'letter'. It was a napkin. More specifically, it was the same one that Qrow used during the meal at the inn, which he'd quickly scrawled on, crumpled up and thrown to him, calling it a letter. Miss Goodwitch raised an eyebrow at the sight of the dirty piece of trash, but the Wanderer sheepishly passed it to her anyway. She took it from him and held it before herself, examining the 'letter' that frankly belonged in the garbage can.

"It's from him, it really is. He... he was drunk."

"He's always drunk..." Miss Goodwitch sighed and began to unfold the napkin. "Honestly, I'd expect no less from him. Rather, I should say that I expect no _more_. Qrow has always been... idiosyncratic."

That was one way of putting it.

Miss Goodwitch scanned the 'letter'. It took her about two seconds to read, before she looked back up at the Wanderer. "Have you read this yet?" He shook his head. She laid the napkin on the desk, letting him take a look.

 _He's not bad._

The Wanderer scowled. What the Hell kind of recommendation was that? It was a single sentence that said literally nothing about his abilities. It was vague incarnate. Beacon was supposed to be one of the best school in all of Remnant, but Qrow thought that he'd be able to get him in with this piece of crap? What a damn joke!

"This is a shining recommendation," Miss Goodwitch said.

Oh. Alright then.

"Qrow's team was the best in Beacon when they graduated. That was decades ago, and he's only gotten better... despite his eccentricities. He's even been a part-time teacher at the prestigious Signal Academy, which prepares young Huntresses and Huntsman before they can seek to enter battle schools for older students, such as Beacon." She adjusted her glasses again. Okay, no way she wasn't doing that on purpose, making him stew with the little pauses. "Qrow is an expert Huntsman, and he's been in the presence of rising Huntsman and Huntresses for years. However, he's a hard man to impress. Would you care to guess how many people he's recommended?"

"I don't know... at least a couple?"

"None."

The Lone Wanderer was silent.

"That begs the question, what did you do to impress him?"

I brutally killed several people.

"Do you have some kind of unique ability?"

I can murder without guilt, and I can do it well.

"Perhaps something in your character?"

I'm a monster, and Qrow wants to fight fire with fire.

"I'm sorry Miss Goodwitch, but I really can't say."

"Well, whatever it was, you certainly got his attention, which is why you've grabbed our attention, why we're even considering letting you in so late. Care to share what your experience was?"

"We just fought some Grimm, some raiders too."

"People? You fought people?"

"Yes."

MIss Goodwitch took her glasses off her face altogether, breathing on them to produce a light mist, before wiping them clean on the hem of her cape. She leveled a fresh gaze at him once she was done, and the Wanderer knew that she'd likely thought through a great deal in those few seconds.

"I see," she said eventually. But what did she see? Maybe she was comparing his story to whatever else she knew. What exactly had Qrow told them in the message he sent them? "Qrow told us next to nothing in the message he sent us, other than your information and the date for the interview."

Oh. Alright then.

"I was honestly hoping that his... _letter_... would tell us a bit more about you, but I evidently hoped for too much. Nevertheless, I'd like to become more acquainted." She offered an inviting hand in his direction. "Tell me about yourself."

He did. He gave her the same vague, half-true story that he'd given Qrow: he was an outsider from an isolated little community, who'd never gotten formal Huntsman training and relied on field experience. Come from Vacuo, a shipwreck had led him to Qrow. He also mentioned that he'd only had his aura unlocked recently.

"How long?" She asked.

"Just a few weeks now."

"Is that so? How'd you unlock it?"

"I was in a desperate situation," he said, "it just came in naturally." It was the classic lie that Qrow had told him about. Aura only really managed to manifest if someone did it for you or if you did some pretty intense training and meditation for quite a while, but most people would still believe that desperation was a possibility.

"I do not appreciate dishonesty, Mr. Arc."

Shit.

Evidently, Glynda Goodwitch wasn't 'most people', or maybe he'd just done a predictably bad job at deliverying the lie. Whatever it was, he was in trouble, if her sharp glare was any indication.

"Who unlocked your aura for you?"

Welp, lying at this point would only make things worse. Time to throw someone under the bus. "Qrow. It was all Qrow. I didn't ask for it, he just did it. I was hurt from our fight and... yeah, he did it. It was Qrow. All him. Not me. Qrow. He unlocked it for me. Him. Qrow. All Qrow. All of it."

Really, _really_ illegal. Those were words that Qrow had used to describe the crime of unlocking someone else's aura. Damn this world's laws, he'd known they'd be the end of him.

Miss Goodwitch sighed once more, something that seemed to happen whenever Qrow was brought up. She pinched the bridge of her nose and said, "It's just like Qrow to commit a felony." She put her hand down and righted her posture once more, looking at the Wanderer.

Great, she was probably going to throw him in jail now.

"Qrow's always disregarded the rules, but even he understands and respects the importance of this one. That means you must have interested him quite a lot."

Or maybe she wasn't?

"We here at Beacon are subsidized by the government, as such, we are mandated to act on any crimes."

Oh no, she totally was.

"Considering this, I'm going to choose to selectively forget that last part of our conversation."

Okay, back to amnesty. Not going to complain.

"I suggest you refrain from ever talking about how your aura was unlocked, lest others make the same conclusion as I."

Definitely, he wasn't even going to talk to people in general.

"Normally, I'd never fail to act on the law, but as I've said before, yours is a special case. Qrow may be deeply flawed, but if he saw something in you... I think I'll accept that. He wouldn't break decades of silence to speak out on nothing." She began to rifle through the drawers of the desk. "Honestly, Mr. Arc, this meeting was little more than formality. I just wanted to see for myself that Qrow wasn't playing some sort of joke. His word alone has gotten you in, and I hope that you'll repay his kindness by performing up to standard." She brought out a pen and a small stack of paper, expertly striking through them.

"You'll be issued a school ID, which functions as an official government ID, given that Beacon s funded by the Kingdom. Should you not have a scroll, you'll be provided a basic one. Housing and meals are free, so long as you are enrolled. You'll be taught the art of combat."

Excellent, that was all he needed. Once he got good enough, he'd just pack up and leave, as he'd done countless times before.

"There is also an academic portion of our education."

Hah, he wouldn't need to put any effort into that, thanks to the fact that he'd be leaving. He could just put all his time into fighting.

"Now you may think that you can eschew your academic responsibilities just because Beacon is a battle school."

Got that right.

"But should your academic scores fall too low, you'll be forced into mandatory remedial lessons, and evidence that you're purposefully ignoring your duties will result in punishment, generally in the form of detention. Repeated transgression may eventually result in suspension or even expulsion."

Shit.

"You'll be provided a comfortable living space which you'll share with your team—"

"What!?"

Miss Goodwitch looked up from her paperwork, pen becoming still. "Is there a problem, Mr. Arc?"

"Yeah, I work by myself. I won't be a part of any team."

"I'm afraid that's impossible. Beacon requires all students to have a partner with whom they work in a four-person team. If you cannot abide by this, then I'm afraid I cannot admit you."

He looked away.

"Mr. Arc?"

"It's fine."

It wasn't.

Miss Goodwitch knew that.

"You'll have to learn to work with a team while at Beacon, if that makes you uncomfortable than I suggest that you immediately try to rectify that, do you understand?"

He nodded.

She looked at him for a few seconds, before shortly returning to the paperwork. Another minute passed by in silence between the two, before she finally made one last swish with her pen and turned the papers to the Wanderer. "Here you are, Mr. Arc. Obviously, we'll need to take in more of your details for registration purposes, but the contract is ready now. Just sign here."

She passed him the pen, and he looked down at the contract. It was mostly just red-tape jargon, with some stipulations that he'd follow the law and whatnot if he wanted to stay enrolled. He'd really, _really_ need to look up the laws here. Other than that, it seemed trivial. A thin, straight line rested at the very bottom of the final paper, beckoning him. He moved the tip of the pen close, hesitating just a second before the ink touched, then fumbling out a crude, unpracticed signature. Miss Goodwitch promptly took the contract and filed it away.

"Congratulations Mr. Arc, and welcome to Beacon Academy."

* * *

"Mistress, I believe I have something you'd like to see."

Cinder didn't turn around, merely stretching out her hand. Emerald dutifully gave her a scroll. The dangerous woman took another sip from her wine, sunlight from the bullhead's window sparkling against the glass. The screen displayed two files: one marked 'rose' and one marked '?'. Hmm, wasn't that intriguing? She settled back into her seat and examined it.

"Our agent monitoring Beacon noticed a change in their students, two have been admitted just today, ultra-last minute." Cinder looked at the first one, a slight frown forming on her face. Ruby Rose. She'd just fought that insolent girl before heading back to Mistral, and it seemed that Ozpin had decided to take her in. The reason was obvious: those silver eyes could pose an incredible risk to her and her plans. The Headmaster would likely try to take advantage of that, cultivating the girl's skill in the coming years to turn her into a weapon against Salem. She smiled. Too bad they wouldn't have more than six months.

She flipped over to the second file, failing to recognize the blond-haired young man. He had an ugly scar around one of his eyes that stretched across his cheek, working with the harsh lines etched into his face and the dull stare from his eyes to give him a greater sense of maturity than his youth would suggest. Before her was his transcript in the Beacon database, marked for 'Jaune Arc'. She glanced at Emerald.

"This is the other admitted student. He was taken in today without any earlier application, with less than a week left before the start of school." That was strange indeed. Cinder read through his transcript.

 _Name: Jaune arc._

 _Age: 17_

 _Height: 6"1_

 _Eye Color: Red/Blue_

 _Sex: Male_

 _Birthplace: Vacuo_

That was all normal enough, but the same couldn't be said for the next section.

 _Parent/Guardian 1: N/A_

 _Parent/Guardian 2: N/A_

 _Semblance: N/A_

 _Prior Combat Schools: N/A_

 _Prior Academic Schools: N/A_

 _Performance on Standardized Combat Aptitude Test: N/A_

 _Performance on Standardized Academic Aptitude Test: N/A_

 _Affiliations: N/A_

 _Next of Kin: N/A_

 _Work Experience: N/A_

 _Emergency Contact: N/A_

Cinder scowled.

"There's huge gaps missing from his transcript. So we decided to try and dig into his past ourselves."

"And your findings?"

"We checked in Vale, nothing. Absolutely nothing. No records of any Jaune Arc or anyone who looks likes him. The only thing we were able to find was his registration to Beacon, which happened just yesterday." Emerald sighed. "So then we looked to Vacuo, and found even less. Literally nothing, nothing at all. They don't keep good records over there, though, and maybe he moved a while back, so we decided to check through the systems of _all_ the kingdoms." Emerald threw her hands up in the air and fell back into a seat. "Nothing! Nothing again! No records of credit cards, signing up for a club, getting an, ID, literally nothing about Jaune Arc in all of Remnant before yesterday!" She clasped her hands together and leaned forward, a smile on her face. "Buuutttt, that's when we searched by facial recognition instead. We searched for his face through all the major Kingdom networks for the last decade, and found only _one_ other match, just a few weeks ago."

Cinder scowled. "So that means he's carefully operated outside of the cities his entire life, or at least maintained a near impossibly low profile while within them." Considering that there were many places in Remnant distant from the cities and that technology that could've tracked him, it wasn't hard for people to remain off the grid. Still, combine that with an absence of family and any official experience? And only _one_ shot of his face? Not even in the backdrop of someone else's picture? "What was the one match?"

"Just look at the rest of the file."

Cinder scrolled down to what appeared to be a hospital report. There was a profile photo of the unconscious teen lying in bed. Her looked further down.

 _Condition: Multiple lacerations to limbs, deep wound inflicted to stomach_

 _Notes: Aura unlocked shortly after wound was attained, sparing patient from fatality_

That was strange. Very strange. He'd only had his aura unlocked a few weeks ago? And he still managed to survive the wilds outside of the cities, let alone get into Beacon? She continued reading, and what she saw next made her teeth clench and her eyes burn with fury.

 _Name: Steve Branwen_

 _Parent/Guardian: Qrow Branwen (father)_

"That bastard. That bastard dog of Ozpin. He has a son?"

"Well, from what we know of him, it wouldn't be weird to think he's gotten someone pregnant over the years, would it? Though they don't look anything like each other; it might be adoption, or just weird genes, or maybe a lie. Whatever the case, there's definitely a link."

"Definitely... that would explain the lack of records, and how he got into Beacon so late. If he's been traveling with Branwen, then it wouldn't be hard for him to stay out of sight and get all the skills of a Huntsman... he might even be from that same tribe." Cinder stared at the scroll, looking hard at the young man. It certainly wasn't a coincidence that this happened so soon after her attack on the maiden. Perhaps Qrow had decided to bring his protégé in as a pawn in their game. Whatever the case, she'd make sure to pay special attention to this one. She summoned a burst of harsh flame in one; it writhed like a batch of coiled snakes.

Oh yes, special attention indeed.

* * *

 **Duh, duh, duh. Qrow's little joke puts the Wanderer on thin ice, and we'll have to see how that unfolds. This officially marks the end of the prologue, with next chapter entering the canon, though it'll quickly get different in ways large and small. How Jaune acts will shape this world in numerous ways, as his past effects his current actions. And what is his past? Don't worry, once things settle down at Beacon after initiation, Jaune will have a lot of time to reflect on what's happened to him, and more will be revealed. Right now, I'm just trying to move along the plot and introduce Jaune to the characters before getting too wrapped up in his personal story, though that's the main focus of this fic. Plot demands development!**

 **You know, I originally wrote a sizable scene for this chapter where Jaune met Pyrrha on the airship and had a brief exchange, but upon review, I realized that it added literally nothing, so I cut it. It was well over a thousand words, too. Oh well, not all ideas see the light of day. Before I began writing, I planned out most of this fic, but there's still plenty of stuff that I make up as I go, mostly the filling for the grand scheme of things that I've devised. Hopefully it'll all work out in the end.**

 **I hope you've enjoyed my interpretation of both Fallout and RWBY's unexplained mechanics, as well as my efforts to merge them, such as VATS, why not everyone has aura, speech fails and successes. There's a lot of stuff to sift through and make sense of it, but it's honestly a lot of fun.**

 **Anyway, come back next weekend to see Jaune finally meet the rest of the cast, and, as always, any reviews and/or questions are both encouraged and appreciated! Also, I'm gonna try and get better about publishing new chapters earlier in the weekend, rather than sunday night. It's just that I'm pretty busy weekdays, but oh well.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Alright, the next update. The introduction is now over, so let's dive into canon. Hope you all enjoy!**

* * *

Nora Valkyrie was having a wonderful day.

Stupendous, actually. She was skipping through the streets, humming a happy tune. She and Ren had gotten into Beacon! The bestest, coolest battle school on all of Remnant, and they'd gotten in together! It was all or nothing for them, but they got it all! Oh man, this was gonna be great!

It was so great, actually, that she'd decided to buzz around the neighborhood, skipping at twenty-miles an hour as she waited for the airship. Maybe Ren would be okay with sticking around with everybody else, but not her. No, Nora Valkyrie wouldn't be contained!

She sped down another street, a great big smile on her face. Then she saw someone, and she stopped.

There was a teen about her age, with blonde hair, a blue outfit and an awesome looking scar. To be honest, it was the scar that made her stop. It was cool! Like, really cool! Maybe she'd get a scar like that someday. Well... she'd wouldn't want it on her face. Maybe the back, or an arm, so she could conveniently show it off but not have to wear it all the time. Heh, he probably has a bunch of cool stories and stuff.

Welp, only one way to find out.

She skipped over to him. He had some sort of bulky, wrist-mounted scroll that was playing a radio, and she heard the last words of it as she neared.

"—and that concludes our marathon of 'World of Remnant'. If you stuck with us through the whole feature, then we hope that you now have a more comprehensive understanding of our world—"

The teen twisted a dial on his weird scroll and turned it off, then pulled out a book and started reading.

"Hey there!" She yelled, even though she was only ten feet away. "My name's Nora, what's yours?" Her smile was wide enough to span a continent, and it shone like the core of an explosion.

The young man looked at her from over his book, then raised it in front of his face and pressed himself against the wall behind him. Wow, he was just like Ren! Alright, that's no problem, she was used to dealing with these kinds of introverts.

"Soooo, watcha doing here?" Her smile failed to waver as he continued to say nothing. "Watcha reading? Oooh, _Vale's Laws and Customs, a Guide for the Foreigner_. That must mean you're not from around here, huh?" She hopped in the air and clapped her hands excitedly. "I'm not from around here either! I'm from Mistral, actually. Where are you from? What are you doing here?"

The teen flipped a page in his book.

No problem, he was just shy.

"I'm going to Beacon academy to be an awesome Huntress!" she continued. "Are you doing the same? I mean, you're right here by the airships, and you've got weapons and stuff. Are you a student too!?" She waved her arms in a blur, her smile somehow managing to become even larger and even brighter. "If so, that's awesome! Like, really, really, awesome!" She pressed up closer to him. "Ooh, maybe we could be on a team together!"

His hands shot out and roughly hit her shoulders, shoving her away. "Fuck off!" He spat.

Her smile evaporated as she stumbled a few steps back. Her aura protected her from the harsh shove, but she still felt its presence linger on her skin. The young man glared at her from over his book, a mean stare paired with a nastier snarl. She shrunk under the brutal gaze and the equally brutal message.

It looked like this guy wasn't like Ren after all. She gulped and looked down at the floor. Her first attempt at making a new friend; utter failure.

"Alright..." Her voice was despondent, light and almost hollow.

She felt his glare cut into her as she turned and walked away. She didn't skip anymore. A heavy feeling coalesced in her stomach. Well, a little bit ago, she'd seen a quaint ice cream store down the street. She'd go there now. Sweets always made her feel better.

* * *

Lie Ren sighed and left the airship station.

The ship would arrive in just fifteen minutes, yet Nora was still nowhere to be seen. She'd said she needed to burn off energy, that she was just too excited. It was true, and he'd been fine with letting her go off into Vale as a release. Gods forbid he make her keep it all in and she explode. Possibly literally.

But now it was close to the deadline, so he'd have to reel her back in. He just wished she hadn't caused any trouble. Oh, who was he kidding, of course she had. Leave her alone for twenty minutes, and Nora was liable to start at least _one_ fire, likely more.

He strolled down the street, content to let Nora reveal herself through her innately boisterous attitude. Her personality was honestly the best thing about her, always fun loving and uplifting, no matter what.

Still, he'd have to step into whatever fun she'd made for herself, lest she get too caught up in it and end up missing the airship. The message from Beacon clearly stated they wouldn't give second chances to anyone who was late. Accordingly, he'd have to wrangle Nora into punctuality, at least this one time.

Curiously, he couldn't hear her yet. He looked around, seeing no one besides a young man sat against a wall. He was reading book, which he held right in front of his face, though Ren could still see his scar. He often glanced up to check his surroundings, and on one such check, his eyes locked on Ren. Well, now that he had his attention, might as well use it. He approached and asked, "have you seen a girl running around, orange hair, dressed in pink and white?"

The teen with the scar pointed down the street.

"Thank you."

Ren promptly strolled down the sidewalk. Now he at least had a direction, not like that would help much. Nora could be halfway across the city already, if she wanted to. However, he doubted she did, since she wasn't stupid. Her attention span was short, but she'd still know to stick at least somewhere close to the airship so she could get back in time, or at least somewhere close enough for Ren to get her and drag her back, as was now the case. That was usually the case, actually.

Honestly, it really shouldn't be too hard, considering she'd probably tackle him if she saw him. He looked over his shoulder after that thought, just in case. He saw nothing. That was a little weird. He should've been able to at least _hear_ here, or someone yelling about her. He'd expected a noisy and easy to find target, but that's not what he got. Odd. She must really be preoccupied... and when he caught a glimpse of something down the street, he had a good idea of just what that was.

Sure enough, when he looked through the ice cream shop window, he saw her sitting down at a table. Huh, she was sitting down. With how energetic she'd been she left, he'd expect her to at least be standing, if not pacing around. She must be waiting for her order, which she would've scarfed down immediately as soon as she got it. Wait... no, she already has an ice cream cone, and she's just sitting there, licking it. Something's not right here.

Ren entered the store, the little bell above the door chiming as he did so. Nora didn't turn around. He walked up to her table and sat across from her. Her head perked up immediately, and a slight smile graced her face.

"Hey Ren," she said, giving a weak wave as she did so. She licked a little bit of her ice cream.

"Hey Nora," he replied.

Nora continued to lick her ice cream. Her shoulders slouched, and her licks were small and despondent. Normally, she would've eaten it in just a few bites, brainfreeze be damned.

"Is something wrong?"

"I messed up."

Ren looked at her, saw the way her little smile drooped ever so slightly. "Well, what happened?"

"The same thing that always does." Nora half-heartedly licked her icea cream, which had started to melt and dribble down the cone. "I tried talking to someone, but it didn't work out. I thought it'd be different here, like you said. But it's just the same." She took another tiny lick, and the melted ice cream trickle onto her hand. "I'm not stupid. I know I put people off, but I thought that maybe, since everyone else here would be huntresses and huntsman too, maybe they'd understand, you know? I wish I could just be more normal like you." She threw her ice cream cone in the trash near their table. "This is the only way I know how to be." She sighed. "I just wish more people could put up with me."

"Nora, what exactly happened?"

"I saw this guy on the street. He had a really cool scar and stuff, so I thought I'd talk to him. But when I got up close, he just... told me to... eff off. He shoved me away. I thought I'd be able to make more friends once we got here." She sighed again. "You know how much that's bugged me."

Ren's hands clenched into fists under the table. His jaw was set into a straight line, like a calm visage carved from stone. His eyes stared into the distance, imagining that same young man he'd asked for directions. Even if he was out of sight now, he glared daggers at him.

"He obviously wasn't worth being friends with anyway, Nora."

"Really?"

"Of course not. He sounds rude and unamicable." He leaned over the table, closer to her. "Not everything is your fault, it was probably him." He only leaned back when she gave a slight nod. "There will be plenty of people at Beacon who will appreciate you for who you are, like I do, and even if there's no one, then we'll always be together."

"Yeah... yeah... but not together-together, right? Hehe..."

He smiled slightly, tension dissipating as he saw brightness return to Nora's face.

"Of course."

Even as he smiled, he couldn't help but feel a lingering sensation in his stomach, something ugly and heavy, something directed towards that young man with a scar.

* * *

Blake Belladonna just wanted her privacy.

Too bad she was on a cramped airship, where that was near impossible. People stood every few feet or so, and she just wanted to take a seat and read her book in peace. As such, she stalked through the crowd, weaving her way past the other students to find a nice little nook to seclude herself.

Eventually, she found a spot. It was at the back of the airship, near the large unfolding ramp that served as their entrance and exit. A short bench rested nearby, and it was probably the lack of windows that had left this back area relatively sparse. Most of the new students would undoubtedly want to stand and gawk at the view.

However, if she wanted a nice space away from the rest, then she'd have to share.

A young man sat on the far side of the bench, literally as far away from the others as possible without standing and pressing yourself against the wall. Clad head to toe in blue, with a sword and pistol at his waist and an ugly, painful-looking scar on his face, he'd already put Blake's plan into action for himself, reading from a small white book. That was alright, as long as both of them were quiet, then surely neither would have a problem.

Apparently, she was wrong.

She sat down on the side of the bench opposite to him and pulled her book, quickly flipping through to the spot she'd left off at, but a nagging feeling kept her from focusing on the reading. She flicked her gaze to the corner of her eye, at the young man to her right. He held the book before him, but over its edge, it was clear that he was staring at her. No, not staring, _glaring_.

She glanced back to her novel, but an indomitable crawling sensation writhed under her skin, and she snuck another look at him. He was still glaring. This time, she held the gaze, which told a story. The creases on his face coalesced and formed a single expression of accusation. His look held an intensity of distrust that made it abundantly clear he didn't like her sitting there.

She expanded her review, seeing how his shoulders were tensed, prepared to react in any way. Wasn't this one jumpy? Obviously, he wanted her to leave. Well, if he thought he could have the best spot in the ship all to himself, then he thought wrong.

Blake turned back to her novel. If he wanted to get up and leave, he could do so. As it was, she wanted to find out how the man with two souls dealt with his peculiar situation. She did, however, give him one small concession, an olive branch. She shuffled a bit further away on the bench, all the way to the end, such that there wasn't so much as an inch between her and empty space and turned, back facing him.

Her ears twitched imperceptibly in her bow as she heard him shift beside her, undoubtedly shuffling closer to his own edge of the bench. Good. They could share the spot and enjoy a mutual silence, reading.

She stared at the words on the page, but she couldn't quite bring herself to read. Something about this one put her off. Time in the White Fang had made her distrusting, but never to the degree that she would be so suspicious of someone just coming to take a seat and read next to her. Perhaps he'd been through some similar sort of experience, that might explain the scar. Ugh, her curiosity was getting the better of her.

There was a racist pun in there, but she refused to entertain it.

She also refused to entertain said curiosity and ceased brainstorming about whatever past had resulted in this current behavior. Perhaps he had a condition, or maybe he was just more antisocial than even her. If that was the case, then he was much more hostile about it than she, and he wore that hostility on his sleeve.

Well, it was none of her business, whatever it was. She got back to reading. She sensed the crawling sensation of being watched steadily drain, and a furtive glance confirmed that the young man had indeed gotten back to his own book. However, when he'd shifted closer to his own edge, he'd also turned to sit at an angle, but not away. He faced her.

Wasn't he paranoid?

Blake shrugged and got back to reading.

* * *

Ruby Rose hadn't known what to expect.

Maybe she and Yang would explore the campus together. Maybe Yang would introduce her to some of her friends. Maybe they'd look at clubs and stuff, try to carve out a place for themselves. Oh! Maybe they'd go out and find the Beacon armory and weaponsmith!

What she hadn't expected was for Yang to _abandon_ her, then get berated by some snotty girl and literally explode.

As it was, she teetered on her feet, reeling from the shock of it all. The stench of burnt dust lingered in her nose, smelling like fire and humiliation. This was Beacon. This was her dream school. This was supposed to be perfect, fantastic. It was anything but. Alone and stunned by explosion and diatribe, fatigue gripped her legs.

She fell back onto the ground and closed her eyes with a put-upon sigh. This sucked. It really, really sucked. She just wanted to lie here and do nothing, let Yang and the mean girl do whatever it was they wanted, as long as they did it away from her. Ugh, why couldn't things-

"Hey, are you alright?" A voice appeared above, alongside prodding hands that quickly grabbed her. Her eyes shot open, seeing a young man who couldn't have been too much older than her. Concern gripped his face, mixed with determination. He poked and probed her in a way that was actually familiar. She'd seen the nurses back at Signal do it, whenever they rushed out to check over students who'd been hurt. "Were you caught in that explosion? Does anything hurt?"

"Huh? Wuh?" She couldn't form a single coherent word, between him lightly jostling her around (which was a little weird, to be honest) and the immediacy of the questions. She managed to bat his hands away, though, red in the face. If Yang found out a boy had crouched over her while she laid on the ground, hands all over her, then he'd be dead and she'd be mortified. "N-no! I-I'm fine!" She finally stammered. "I... I'm just having a really bad day... I'm fine, I..." she sighed. "I just needed a break."

"You... were just resting?"

She nodded.

He looked in her eyes. Actually, he stared into her eyes. She gulped. He was certainly just examining her face to make sure that she was really okay, checking her eyes for any sign of concussion, but a strange intimacy persisted nonetheless

After the pang of embarrassment subsided, she stared back, but at one eye in particular. The entire eye was a deep, murky red. Only the pupil stood unharmed, like a little black pearl in a bloody sea. Around it crept burned and scarred flesh that stretched out across his cheek bone, as if whatever had hit him did so at an angle, scorching his eye and blasting across his face. It honestly looked a little cool, just a little. It made her wince more than anything else. That must have hurt.

Oh great, she was staring, and he'd obviously noticed, if the scowl was any indication. She really must've made it look like the scar bothered her, since he abruptly got up and stomped away. Crap. Crap. Crap, crap, crap! Someone had come up out of the blue to help her out, and she'd repaid him by making him feel like a freak! Ugh, how crappy was that? Really crappy, that's the answer.

Well, she'd just have to do something about it.

She left a cloud of rose petals behind her as she blurred up and ahead of the young man, before twirling and sticking her hand out for a handshake. Her smile was wide, and her eyes sparkled. "Hello, my name's Ruby!"

He'd clearly been caught off guard by her speed, but he quickly composed himself. Once he did, he took one look at her hand, then he took one step to the side and walked past her.

Ruby's brow twitched. Alright, not good. No, not good at all, not one bit. She'd made a mistake, and she planned on rectifying it! Persist! Maybe he was still upset, yeah. If she'd rushed out to help someone, only for them to insult her, then she'd be pretty mad, too. No problem, just explain yourself. She jogged up beside him.

"I'm sorry for staring at your... face. You, I mean, you have a pretty good face, aside from the whole... you know. Well, not like it's bad or anything." She waved her hands in front of her. "I mean, I didn't even notice it! Well... except that I did..." She gulped. "But I didn't mean to! It was just... sorta... there..."

His scowl deepened.

She looked away and let out a brittle chuckle, nervously poking her fingers together.

Oh, the joys of being socially awkward. Great, first she makes a problem, and then she makes it worse. Okay, probably just didn't like it getting brought up all over again, fair enough. Well, if that's the case, just talk about something else. Yeah, something else... something... anything. Anything else. Why couldn't she think of literally anything else?

She looked at him, hoping there'd be something on his person that could prompt some sort of conversation that would turn this train wreck into something better. Then she spied it. On either side of his hips were two weapons, one sword and one pistol. Aha! Weapons! They were better than people, and if she had to talk, then she'd talk about them.

"So, you have weapons too, huh? I mean, of course you do, you're a huntsman after all!"

She bounced on her feet. Excellent! Something nice and safe that they could both relate to! And weapons _were_ awesome. It'd be so cool to hear about what he had. In fact, Ruby was so excited that she didn't even notice the way that his face finally boiled over into an uninhibited snarl. His mouth opened.

Ruby talked first. "Yeah, I spend all my time looking at weapons, tinkering with them, making them. I'm pretty good at it, too!" She faltered for a second and awkwardly kicked the ground. "I'm not anything special, though, pretty normal, heh. Normal knee—um, normal. Just normal. Normal girl." She looked back up to him and smiled nervously. "I'm sure you're great with guns too, and swords, and gun-swords. " Her smile gained some confidence. "I mean, you have to be if you made it into Beacon, right?"

His mouth closed; hostility drained from his face.

Please... come on... I'm not a bad person, I swear!

"I think I'm pretty good with weapons," he said.

YES!

"You're good with them?" he asked.

"Huh? Yeah, totally. It's like, all I ever do. I mean, I read comics and stuff too, but weapons are my passion!"

He hummed.

"Yeah, here, let me show you Crescent Rose!" She hopped back and reached behind her, deftly swinging her scythe up and into the air, where it unfolded before crashing back down in a wide arc, lodging itself into the stone. Ruby smiled wide, taking pride in how he reacted with such awe, stepping back several paces. He must be really impressed! Oh, and now he's taking out his weapon too, he must want to compare. I wonder- holy crap!

"A chainsaw sword? That's so cool!" It looked worse for wear, covered in grime that reached into every crack and scratch, impossible to clean. Still, she'd never seen anything like it! Ruby squealed and gushed over his sword, which he'd conveniently brandished in front of her. Inspecting the many sharp, small teeth that lined the blade, she completely missed his scowl, as well as the way his entire body tensed, ready to pounce at any moment.

"Man, that's really, really awesome! Did you make it yourself?"

The young man shuffled on his feet, some of the tension draining from his figure. Ruby was still too busy scrutinizing his sword to notice. She even reached out a few times to poke it, eyes glazed over with fascination. The young man looked at her inspecting his weapon, and he sighed.

"No, no I didn't make it. It was a gift."

"Wow, some awesome gift, huh?"

"Yeah..."

"What's its name?"

"Hm?"

"It's name? It does have a name, right. Like, my baby here is Crescent Rose. She's awesome. She's a high-impact sniper rifle _and_ a scythe."

"Sheesh... of course it is... the weapons in this place..." He shook his head.

Ruby looked at him expectantly, glancing between him and the sword.

With a sigh, he obliged, hefting It into the air and pulled the trigger, making it roar and shudder as the teeth ground around the central frame, catching flashes of sunlight as they sped by. Ruby hopped up and down and clapped her hands together, smile wide. He let go of the trigger, and the blades slowed to a halt. "It's called Crocea Mors, named after the sword of a famous warrior."

"Ooh, cool. I just called mine Crescent Rose because the blade is the shape of a crescent and, well, my name is Ruby Rose." She thrust one fist in the air triumphantly, as if her name was an accomplishment. Her expression turned sour, however, when she realized one important fact. "Oh, sorry, I forgot to ask your name!"

"Jaune Arc," he said mechanically.

"Well Jaune, it's nice to meet you. Again, sorry about the whole..." Oh crap, why'd she have to bring up his face again? Abandon ship! Resort once more to plan B! "So, what's your other weapon?" She pointed to his hip, where his pistol rested.

He sheathed the totally awesome chainsaw sword and drew his gun, which had similar wear. Weird, he must go outside a lot, because they were both obviously well-kept and in good condition, just dirty and worn. If anything, it gave them both character, real character that said they'd been used. Again, pretty cool. The more she learned about him, the more she liked this guy. Him and his weapons both.

The pistol was a revolver... a big one. Man, that thing might even be able to shoot a rifle's bullets. It held a unique finesse, with something about it suggesting power, like a coiled spring, or the tensed muscles of a beowolf about to leap.

"And what's this one's name?"

He looked down at it, thinking for a few seconds. "This... this is the Mysterious Magnum."

"Ooh, why's it called that?"

"Well, I got it from a Mysterious Stranger."

"Oooooohhhh," she cooed. She reached forward to get a better look at it, but he pulled it back and holstered it immediately.

"Hey Ruby..."

"Yeah?"

"So you're good with weapons of this world, right?"

"Yup! I mean, what other world's weapons would I be good with?"

He gulped.

"But yeah, I _love_ working with, making and tuning guns and gun hybrids."

A glint appeared in Jaune's eye, a conspiratorial flash. "I'm new around here, and I've never gotten a chance to really work with proper tools for my weapons. Would you like to work with me? We could work together."

Wait. Was he... was he... was he suggesting they hang out? Did he want to do something with her? This... this was what friends did! Haha! Take that Yang! She could totally make friends all on her own, who needed big sis when social expert Ruby was around? Hooray! The very first day and she made her very own friend without Yang's help. This was awesome!

"So, would you mind spending some time at the armory with me?"

"Yes, yes I would mind!"

"Oh, fine," he said, voice suddenly becoming granite.

Huh? Why was he... oh crap! "Oh, no I mean yes! Wait, no, no, no. Yeah, I meant to say no."

"No, you don't want to work together?"

"No, I mean I wouldn't mind, so yes!"

"Wait, no... yes?"

"Yes!"

He stared at her, face the picture of confusion.

"So... is that a no?"

"No to what?"

"No to my question."

"Yes!"

"Wait... so, no?"

"Yes!"

"No, you don't want to help?"

"What? No! No, I mean, yes to that, but no to the other thing, and, umm..."

Ruby smiled, although it was fragile. Honestly, her head was a mess and she had no idea what they were talking about. Judging from his own quizzical look, Jaune was no better off. He squinted and tried to concentrate, before giving up and starting anew.

"Okay... do you want to help me or not?"

"Yes, yes I want to help. I'd love to help! Weapons are so cool, it'd be awesome to work together."

Jaune sighed deeply, letting go of his accrued frustration. "Alright. We can meet up in the armory sometime soon. I'd like to go as soon as possible, actually."

Ruby nodded excitedly, her smile settling into a more natural state. This was great! This was sooo good. She'd managed to make a friend right after getting into Beacon, and he had awesome weapons and wanted to go over them with her! Interacting with people was always better when you could do it relative to a gun or a sword or a gun-sword. Heh, maybe Beacon wouldn't turn out so bad after all.

"Well, we should probably get going," he said.

"Hm? Oh yeah, probably." She looked around her. "Wait, where _are_ we supposed to go, exactly?"

Jaune opened his mouth to answer, only to shut it a second later. He peered around them, seeing no one else in sight.

"That... is a good question."

* * *

Yang Xiao Long lay in her blankets, a smile on her face.

First, she and her friends from Signal had gawked at the sights together, leaving Ruby behind. It wasn't like she _wanted_ to just abandon her baby sister like that, no matter how much she'd like to hang out with her own pals. She'd never just abandon Ruby, but it was for her own good, really. Okay, maybe she didn't exactly want little sis to tag along with her every step, but Ruby _did_ need to learn some independence.

And it worked!

Even if Ruby would rather hole up in her room with comics and gun magazines, she managed to make a real, live friend. Her little sister was the opposite of gregarious, so getting even one friend was a pretty big accomplishment. Well, there were those people back at Signal she'd been writing to, but...

Yeah.

Anyway, this could finally be her chance. Someone who apparently had a cool pistol and a chainsaw sword. Yang had to admit that that _was_ pretty cool, even if she wasn't quite as infatuated by it as Ruby.

Right now, this 'Jaune' guy looked like her sister's best option at having a real pal. She'd have to check him out for herself. Normally she'd be perfectly fine with letting her have her own social life, ecstatic, actually. This guy, though, there was just something about him, and she didn't just mean how he sorta looked the villain from a saturday-morning cartoon. She wasn't shallow enough to judge him by that nasty scar, even if it _was_ a little evil looking. Just a little bit.

No, she was more concerned by how he always scowled, or how he never talked, or how he kept to the outskirts (or even beyond the outskirts) of the group. He just didn't at all seem like the type of person to go out and make friends, even less so than Ruby. And that begged the question: how did a socially-awkward person and someone who seemed straight-up antisocial even become friends in the first place?

Okay, maybe she was just being paranoid, but after sneaking a few looks at the guy, she was pretty confident that some of it may be justified. Hey, she was the older sister and this was her job, alright?

Ugh, she'd never be able to sleep with this still on her mind.

Yang shifted up from the blankets and looked around the auditorium. It was covered in swathes of darkness, like the part that she and Ruby rested in, but much of it still comprised dim light and wakeful students. She looked around, on the off-chance that he was still awake, too.

Huh, can't see him... where is—ahah!

There, in the furthest corner of the room, literally as far away from everyone else as you could possibly get without leaving the auditorium, he sat, illuminated only by moonlight come from a nearby window. He using that light to red from a small white book.

She moved her blankets aside and stood up, but before she walk any closer to him, she turned and looked back down at Ruby. Her sister dozed in her blankets, wrapped up cutely and peacefully. Should she really be doing this? Ruby was in her teens now, and she should be able to make her own friends without her big sister lording over her.

Yang hummed. No, it was her responsibility. Wasn't it? She gnawed at the inside of her cheek. Was this really okay? Ruby needed to be independent... but it wasn't like she was telling her what to do. She was just checking things out for herself.

She stretched out a few kinks and shivered ever so slightly as the warmth from her blankets dissipated. She really did want to go back to sleep, but this nagging feeling just wouldn't stop bugging her, scratching at her thoughts in a way that made rest impossible.

She padded across the floor and into the darkened, largely empty section of the far room, eventually getting covered in wash of wet moonlight that reflected softly off her skin and sharply off her hair. He noticed her, and he glared.

"Hey there, name's Yang," she said with a smile and wave.

His eyes narrowed, glare intensifying.

Her smile became a little brittle.

"What do you want?" he asked, tone harsh like sandpaper.

"Uhm, I just came by to say hi, introduce myself, you know."

"Fuck off."

"What!?" She actually took a step back from that.

"Get the fuck away from me." He sneered at her. One hand fell to his waist.

Wait, he still had his pistol there, weren't they already supposed to drop those off at their lockers? Did he really keep his gun on him? And was he seriously going to shoot her just for saying hello!?

"Did you not hear me? Go fuck yourself."

She put her hands out in front of her, trying to defuse any violence even as she adopted a scowl of her own. "Fine, asshole." She turned around and stomped away, though she couldn't help but take a few glances over her shoulder. He continued to glare at her all the way she walked, and even when she finally got back to her blankets and pulled them over herself, she felt his hostile gaze digging into her.

What that Hell was that guy's problem? She looked over at Ruby, who slept peacefully in her blankets, sleep mask pulled over onto her face. Her light breathing sounded like a wistful breeze, the sort of thing you'd feel and smile at while on a nature walk. Her little sister. Sweet and nice and way, way better than that random asshole. She leaned up and shot her own nasty look at him, even if he now looked back to his book.

He had an angle. He had to. He'd rebuffed her instantly, with her attempt at a greeting lasting just a few seconds. And she was someone fully accustomed to social interaction, who wouldn't make the sorts of mistakes that Ruby undoubtedly would. There was just no way that the girl who would stammer, get lost and talk about weird things would be able to finesse her way into being that guy's friend. She'd said that they'd only talked about weapons, which was Ruby's strong suit, but even then, that wasn't enough to explain how she'd actually managed to get him talking in the first place.

Whoever this guy was, she'd be keeping an eye on him. Whatever reason he had for hanging out with Ruby, she doubted it was because he liked her character. She'd just have to tell Ruby about this, then continue to keep an eye on the guy, just to make sure Ruby was safe.

After all, that's what big sisters do.

* * *

Weiss Schnee was in an excellent position.

For one, she'd managed to avoid that stupid brat in the red hood, who'd nearly gotten both of them killed with a careless sneeze. Really, how was it possible for someone to be _that_ irresponsible? Ugh, never mind. Even if the first day hadn't turned out quite to her liking, things were already going much better.

"And that's why I think we'd make the best team in all of Beacon," she said.

Oh yes, she and Pyrrha Nikos would create an incredible team indeed. She honestly couldn't think of any better partner in the entire school than the masterful champion. That she'd managed to corner her in the locker room just before initiation began? The very same initiation where they'd be matched with their future partners and teammates? This was fantastic!

"So, what do you think, Pyrrha?"

"Why... yes, we might," Pyrrha said.

Might? Might? Why, it was a certainty! Perhaps Pyrrha thought that the two of them would overshadow the other members of their team. While that was a magnanimous method of thinking, it lacked one key point: anyone who entered their team with them would certainly be honored! After all, the chance of being so closely affiliated with legends such as Weiss Schnee and Pyrrha Nikos? The other two would definitely be incredibly grateful for the chance to associate with them, for their names would become known across all of Remnant. Indeed, it was already the case that everyone knew who they were.

Someone bumped into her from behind.

"Ugh, excuse you!" she said. It was a young man about her age, obviously another student, who'd apparently not been watching where he'd been going. He glanced at her, huffed, and walked away.

WHAT!?

"Uhm, are you not going to apologize?" She asked. Well, it was more of a demand, but she was a Schnee, she had every right to demand!

He didn't so much as spare her another look as he looked down an aisle of lockers, counting through them.

"Wha...? Do you not know who I am?" She stamped down on the ground with one foot and gave him the nastiest glare she could possible conjure, the very sort that had made unruly servants melt, which had even cowed Klein when he teased her at an inopportune moment.

Finally, the young man turned around, and Weiss's furious glare locked with one equally hateful. Neither backed down. After a few seconds of tense ocular sparring, he said, "no, no I don't know who you are."

"Well, you should! I am Weiss Schnee of the Schnee Dust Comp—"

"And I don't care either," he spat. "I never care about who people are, I just learn about them myself. Now screw off and never talk to me ever again." He promptly shoved her aside and pushed past, putting Weiss on the back foot as she stumbled. She was left aghast.

The nerve!

* * *

Pyrrha Nikos was in luck.

The young man who had just thoroughly trounced Weiss walked away from the former heiress, and she stepped to the side to let him pass. He glanced at her as he walked by, but the look didn't last half a second before his eyes flicked away, further down the hall. He muttered something about lockers and numbers. He was probably just lost, trying to find his way.

As he walked down the row of lockers and disappeared around the corner, Pyrrha couldn't help but feel something coalesce in her chest. Light and airy. Hope. When she'd left Mistral, she'd been filled with hope, mainly that she'd finally be able to be a normal person. Vale was far from her home, where literally everyone knew her. She'd thought that she would be unknown here. What a foolish thing to think.

She still got recognized on the street, and especially here in Beacon. Every student she'd talked to had immediately known who her, had put her on a pedestal. They revered her, exclaimed her prowess. In effect, they immediately pushed her away. She looked sidelong at Weiss, who'd continued to babble about why they should be together.

"Your combat prowess mixed with own incredible capabilities..."

Yuck.

Pyrrha had wanted nothing more than to find someone who didn't know who she was, or who would at least treat her like a normal person. Her hope died quickly. Well, at least until now. He hadn't given her the time of day. He'd completely ignored her. That was fantastic!

If he wasn't even able to recognize the famed Schnee heiress, known for her distinctive look, singing abilities and acumen as a huntress, then how would he know anything about her? He'd practically proved his ignorance by his non-response to her. She wpre her battle armor, vibrant red hair up in the usual fashion. Pyrrha Nikos. There was no mistaking her. Yet he hadn't batted an eye.

Then, his final words. He got to know people himself. He didn't care about who they were. He would care about who _she_ was. He'd get to know _her_. Her chest felt ever lighter as a smile graced her face. That meant he wouldn't put her on that pedestal; he'd appreciate her as a person.

Certainly, this was a wholesome habit of his born from a desire to be sociable and respectful.

Sure, he seemed a little... rough, but who wouldn't be when accosted by Weiss like that? Pyrrha would never act out quite so boldly to anyone, but even she had to admit that a good bit of frustration had built up while talking to the Schnee. Besides, maybe he'd just had a bad morning? Alright, perhaps she was desperate. Oh, who was she kidding, of course she's desperate! She just wanted someone, anyone, who'd treat her like a normal person, and he seemed to be the only person in all of Beacon who might do that.

Her one-sided conversation with Weiss was cut off when an announcement ordered all students outside of the locker room and to the cliff. The heiress stuck by her side even then, but Pyrrha scanned the crowd.

There. The young man with the scar, who'd apparently found his locker, if the sword at his side was any indication. He had a straight face cut from stone, an expression that made him seem somehow older than his innate, youthful vitality would suggest. He hovered outside of the group, headed towards the end of the cliff where they were supposed to meet, eyeing his fellow students with a scrutinizing gaze. Huh, perhaps he was just looking out to make sure Weiss didn't try to confront him again?

Well, no matter what he was doing, no matter who he was, Pyrrha Nikos had found her partner.

* * *

The Lone Wanderer walked to the edge of the cliff.

He took his place on the final of a long line of steel pads, immediately getting as far away from the others as he could. Dozens of these same pads line the edge of the cliff, and he couldn't help but wonder what they were for. He leaned over and looked over the edge.

A slight smile touched the tips of his lips. Green, all of it, all so green. Green and bright and alive and beautiful. This world was so strange in so many ways, but he'd never trade it out for his old one, if only for this incredible green. The blue, too. He looked up, up at the sky. Clear and pretty, devoid of the smog and debris that characterized the sickly roof which had dominated his life back in the wasteland.

Something moved to his side, a shift in his periphery that knocked him from his musing and snapped his head in the direction of whatever had approached.

"Heeeelllloooo," Ruby said. She drew out the word into several more syllables than was at all necessary, waving her hand and flashing a smile as she did so.

God damn it.

Of all the people he had to choose, why her? She was so... annoying. Yes, that was it. That was definitely it. When she'd first approached him after he left her lying on the floor, he figured that just saying nothing would make her get the message, but she persisted. He had no idea what she'd been talking about with his face, but just the fact that she'd wasted his time by taking a nap after that explosion, making him think she'd been hurt, had frustrated him beyond belief. He hadn't been more than a second away from telling her to go fuck herself just as he had a few others, but then she'd gone and mentioned her love for weapons.

The Wanderer needed that. As much as the radio and the book had helped him, there was still plenty in this world that he was left in the dark about. Weaponry was his top priority when it came to information. What better way to learn than to take advantage of some random girl who was apparently a gun nut? He'd work with her as long as he needed to sort out his armaments. Then, once he was well armed and well trained, he could leave her and the whole school behind.

He just wished she'd _shut the fuck up_.

"So, what do you think?" she asked.

Wait, had she been talking to him? Damn, he needed to keep her in his good graces. For now. Just make something up, give a safe answer.

"I don't know."

"Yeah, me neither. I mean, it's kind of impossible to know, isn't it?"

"Yeah... "

"Welp, I guess we'll just have to wait and see what 'initiation' is gonna be like, huh?"

"Sure."

Ruby finally seemed content to idly rock back and forth on her feet to pass the time. Thankfully, she turned out surprisingly easy to lie to and manipulate, which was good, since he'd probably need to do a lot of that to keep her in his good favor, from pretending to pay attention to her to mustering the strength to be nice.

He looked at her, the young girl who was much more dangerous than she appeared. He tensed again, back into his usual cautious stance. Wait, had he relaxed? Yeah, he had. As much as she'd annoyed him, she still had a strangely calming air about her.

Then he'd need to be doubly careful around her. She was obviously extremely deadly given the way she'd handled that scythe of hers. It reminded him of Qrow, and if this girl was half as good as the drunk, then relaxing should be the last thing he does around her. Maybe she was connected to Qrow in some way... nah, probably not. There were likely a ton of scythe-wielders in this crazy world with its crazy weapons. Besides, that didn't matter. That she could get him to let his guard down like this? Worrying.

There was just something about her, something disarming, something safe.

The chances of her attacking him seemed low. She was child-like in her manner and her attitude, maintaining an aura of innocence. Maybe that was it. The way she walked and talked expressed an innocence and honesty that he hadn't seen in a long time. Only children possessed that sort of demeanor in the wasteland, though Ruby was far more dangerous than any child he'd ever seen.

He looked at her fully, now. She definitely wasn't a kid. Young, certainly, even younger than him. Another reason to look out for her, having apparently been skilled enough to already be able to attend. Still, her body was developed to a degree that bellied any possible confusion for her being a child. She was pretty in a way no kid could be. She wasn't beautiful like all the other girls here (who were all more stunning than anyone he'd ever seen, a not unwelcome development), but Ruby was distinctly cute.

Her eyes were especially interesting. He'd noticed their uniqueness back when he'd been checking her for a concussion. Silver. An interesting color, made more interesting by the innate innocence that they contained. He liked the way they sparkled.

Wait, had he relaxed again? Ugh, she'd started humming, too. Between that and his absentminded thinking, he'd let his guard down yet again. He'd need to be wary. Definitely, he'd have to pay careful attention around her. Actually, he'd need to pay special attention to many people.

He looked back over the cliff, looking at everyone he'd met.

For starters, there was that orange-haired girl. She'd been the first for him to talk to, the first for him to rudely dismiss. Honestly, he'd been content to just stay silent and let her babble until she left, since she didn't seem like the type to let her attention stay where it wasn't wanted.

Then she mentioned a new team.

He gritted his teeth at the memory. His reaction at that had been automatic, and it'd set the tempo for the rest of his day. At least it had the desired effect of getting her to leave. Swearing and snarling always worked, a tried and tested model. She'd promptly left. She'd also let that impossibly large smile droop into something saturnine, and the memory of that degradation, a degradation caused by him, made him shuffle uncomfortably.

That girl wouldn't have the highest opinion of him now. He'd need to be wary of her.

He refocused his attention, gaze falling on the man beside her, the same person who'd asked him for directions on how to find that girl, so they were presumably affiliated in some way. Oh well, not like he cared. Still, he'd probably need to keep an eye on him if he was connected to her, since he likely wouldn't appreciate the way he'd treated her. Another person to be wary of.

He saw that girl who'd sat next to him on the bullhead. Her proximity had at first been disconcerting, quite so. For a few minutes, he hadn't been able to focus on his book, only sneaking furtive, suspicious glances at her. Soon enough, however, he became inoculated to her presence. She'd been content to sit in silence beside him and read her boo, seeming to honestly want nothing to do with him.

Perfect.

In fact... she almost reminded him of himself. Wait, that was bad. If she had a past even slightly akin to his own, then that meant that she was probably a ruthless killer. It always was the quiet types you had to worry about. Now that he thought about it more, then she could be dangerous.

Imperfect.

Oh well, he'd just have to be wary of her too.

He switched his gaze over again, to the girl who'd approached him the night before. She had to have angle. 'Just wanted to come over and say hi'. Sure. That's why you got up in the middle of the night and walked all the way across the room just to talk to some random guy you hadn't met before. There was something there. Maybe it was impetuous to throw her back so quickly, maybe he should've tried to find her real reason. Whatever it was, he'd need to keep an eye on her. Yet another person to be wary of.

Then there was the girl he'd run into in the locker room... alright, he kinda wished he'd been nicer to her. She was beautiful. Like, really hot. Really, really hot. Maybe it was just how pure she looked, that porcelain skin, white as snow, far purer than just about anything you could find in the wasteland. However, that stupid voice of hers and its ingrained pretentiousness quickly cancelled out the attraction. He'd made another enemy there, undoubtedly. Also, if she really was someone worth knowing, then perhaps she'd have the resources necessary to harm him. He'd have to be wary of that one, too.

Then there was that girl she'd been talking to, the one with the red hair. He had no idea who she was, but if she was friends with that white-haired girl, then she might hold a grudge for the way he treated her friend. He'd need to get to know her. He'd been honest when said that he liked to know people himself. You couldn't trust reputations. He researched everyone on his own to determine how dangerous they were, a habit born from paranoia. Once more, someone to be wary of.

Damn it, literally everyone he'd met threatened him!

"Ahem, if I may have your attention." The Lone Wanderer turned. Headmaster Ozpin appeared once more, with Miss Goodwitch by his side. She stepped forward and took the initiative in speaking.

"I'm sure you've all heard rumors about team assignment, well let me put those to rest." She cast a sweeping look over the crowd. "You will be assigned teammates... today."

The Lone Wanderer's hands curled into fists.

"Your teammates will stay with you for the rest of your time here at Beacon," Ozpin said.

The Lone Wanderer's hands began to shake.

"That being said, your partner will be the first person you make eye contact with."

Beside him, Ruby squawked. He only simmered, clenched fists continuing to tremble.

Team. Assigned a team. Assigned a _new_ team.

Ozpin went on to explain their goal in reaching the temple and achieving the relics, but the Wanderer could hardly hear him. Team. Team. Team. He didn't want a team. Miss Goodwitch had mentioned this to him, but at that moment, faced with the assignment of teammates...

And what a terrible way to form a team, anyway! You can't just _assign_ a team! People need to fight together! The need to kill together! They need to save each other's lives! This is nothing! Nothing compared to... to...

 _A young man finally stopped running. Still panting, he turned behind him and pulled out his monocular. Scanning the horizon and even the skies, he saw no further sign of pursuit. Still, he looked for a few minutes longer as the people behind him panted and founds seats on the scattered rocks. His dog dutifully stood beside him._

 _Eventually satisfied that they'd finally lost their pursuers, the young man put the monocular away and took a seat of his own. He had blonde hair and two blue eyes. His face, though covered in scrapes and some bruises, lacked any major blemishes._

 _He smiled broadly. "We did it!"_

 _His companions whooped in victory, even Dogmeat barked in accompaniment._

 _"That bastard said he killed you guys... I really thought I'd lost you."_

 _"Oh come on, these Enclave pricks haven't got anything on the regulators," the girl said. "Hell, even with John weighing us down, we managed to get out of there and track you back here."_

 _"Wait, did you just say I weighed you down? Jane, you do remember how I stabbed a stimpak into you right? I ran out of cover to do it, too! I totally saved your life!"_

 _"Yeah, well I got hurt being a badass, and I had to be a badass because you were weighing us down!"_

 _The two continued to bicker, and the young man only shook his head, smile widening. He chuckled lightly under his breath at the entertainment. Even dogmeat's tail was waving as he looked at their spate. The young man glanced over that the final member of his group and said, "in case you can't tell, Fawkes, they do this a lot."_

 _"Oh, I can tell," the supermutant replied. "Aren't siblings supposed to act this way?"_

 _"Yup, and it's only made worse by the fact that they're twins." Same age. Same brown eyes. Same black hair. Same stubbornness. Same desire to make the other miserable. That was John and Jane for you. They may be his own age, but when they were arguing with each other, they might as well have been five._

 _"Hey, come on. We aren't that bad!"_

 _"Yeah, we're great. Well, I'm better, but still!"_

 _The young man laughed again. "Man it's good to be back with you guys. Raven Rock was filled with all sorts of awful crap. I was afraid I might never get out." He sighed and stood up. "But there's still a lot for us to do. They've got the GECK, and we've got to report back to Lyons. I learned some stuff that I'm sure he'll want to hear."_

 _"And what would that be?" Fawkes asked._

 _"The Enclave's got some major internal divisions. Apparently, President Eden's been robbed of a lot of power by some guy named Colonel Autumn. That piece of shit, Bishop, is the colonel's right-hand man."_

 _John and Jane both snarled at the mention of Bishop Beauvais._

 _"Listen, there's a lot of crazy stuff going on. I'll explain it all once we get back to the Brotherhood. We've got to get going right away."_

 _Even if they groaned, the twins dutifully rose from their seats. Fawkes rose as well, but he uncomfortably shifted from one foot to another when he did._

 _"I suppose that this where we part ways," the supermutant said._

 _"What?"_

 _"What?"_

 _"What?"_

 _Even Dogmeat whined at the change in mood._

 _All three of them turned to look at Fawkes in surprise, but it was the young man who spoke first. "Fawkes, what are you talking about? You're planning on leaving?"_

 _"Well, yes, since I obviously can't come with you."_

 _"Huh? Why not? Is it because you're a supermutant? Don't worry about it, we can just cover you in a cloak or something, no one will care if they can't see you." He patted one hand on the large, green arm. "And once they see how smart you are, everyone's sure to accept you. If they don't, I'll have a word with them."_

 _"Me too."_

 _"Me three."_

 _Fawkes took a step back, stunned as if he'd just seen an explosion. "You all... you're really willing to have me?"_

 _"Duh, that's what we just said, numbskull."_

 _"For once, I agree with my sister. You got the GECK for us, you helped us get to Raven Rock and bust our pal out. Why wouldn't we want you to come with?"_

 _"Yeah," Jane said. "Who cares if you're a supermutant? We've fought together, and the bonds of battle are the only bonds worth caring about."_

 _John stepped up beside his sister. "We're not racists, you know. There are a few ghouls in the regulators, too. You'll be the first supermutant regulator, but that's not bad, just awesome."_

 _Dogmeat got up and padded towards Fawkes, stopping next to him. He leaned forward and licked the large man's hand, as good a show of support as the dog could ever give._

 _Fawkes looked between them all, one after the other. His face was tight and featureless due to the taut skin and bulging muscles, but it wasn't hard to guess how he was feeling. "I... I would be honored to continue fighting alongside you all."_

 _Jane hopped in the air and let out a high-pitched sound of delight, John clapped a hand against Fawkes's arm, Dogmeat howled and the young man nodded approvingly. He'd already been with the twins and his dog for a good while now, but in the short time he'd spent with Fawkes, it was obvious that the man had a good heart. He'd make a great addition to their group._

 _"Alright then. John. Jane. Fawkes. Dogmeat. From here on out, the four us are going to be a team," he said, smile wide._

"Jaune? Jaune?"

The Lone Wanderer snapped back into reality. His smile disintegrated.

"Huh, what is it?"

Ruby had leaned over and was poking his arm, presumably because she hadn't been able to alert him just from words. It was a testament to how far gone he was that she'd been allowed to touch him at all. Now that she had, he could still feel on his skin where she'd contacted, a violating tingle. He rubbed his arm to get it out.

"I just wanted to say good luck and all, since it's about to get started!"

It was? But didn't they need to get down into the forest? They were still up on the cliff—

The platform underneath him shifted, and the Lone Wanderer was flung in the air.

* * *

 **Oh my, the Lone Wanderer is... not very nice. He had a vested interest in at least being polite to both Glynda and Qrow, but that no longer applies. I hope that this doesn't just come off as edgy, I'm just portray the type of person I believe he'd be at this point. I like to think of him as Schroedinger's Douchebag, in that he's simultaneously an asshole and a legitimately nice guy. He tries to help Ruby, then immediately leaves her. He saved those villagers, then had every intention of taking a reward and leaving. Don't worry, there are legitimate reasons for him being mean. Everything he does has a specific motivation, which may differ greatly from what other characters interpret. Pyrrha thinks he wants to know people because he's kinda nice, when he's just paranoid. Ruby thinks he wants to go to the armory because he wants to be friends, when he just wants to use her for her abilities.**

 **Man, EIGHT POV's this chapter, don't expect any future updates to be so varied, since it really limits how in-depth I can go. It was also tough to juggle so many personalities and express my interpretations of them. I took a bit of liberty here and there with things not explicit in canon, like Nora's discomfort with her social abilities. I just wanted to capture everyone's impression of Jaune and Jaune's impression of everyone. I focused on the parts that changed because of Jaune's differences, so always assume that anything which happened in-canon that isn't directly portrayed in this fic just occurred the same as it did in canon. It's pointless for me to just rewrite the show.**

 **Also, a reminder: this fic is based off of vanilla Fallout 3 and its DLC's** **, thus nothing from the other games or any mods will be included, at least for now.**

 **Aside from that, I also have a question for you all: I'm thinking of maybe adding in titles for each chapter, would you guys care for that?**

 **Anyway, expect the next chapter next weekend, where we'll cover the events of initiation. As always, any and all reviews and/or questions are encouraged and appreciated!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Alright, the next chapter. This time around, the Lone Wanderer will be having a 'conversation' with an old 'friend' that should hopefully shed some light on things. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

He wanted to complain. About what? About the aliens who'd sent him to this crazy world, about Qrow who'd sent him to this crazy school. With super powers and monster and all other kinds of absurdity, this place just wasn't doing it for him. As he pried himself up out of the small crater he'd formed in the ground, he really just wanted to work out the kinks and grumble about all the insanity that'd been imposed on him.

He just didn't have the time.

Dark, conspicuous growling crept out from the woods all around him.

One beowolf, then another, then another. They stalked out of the foliage, a small pack, to confront him, to surround him. He saw half a dozen, each snarling and scratching their claws against the ground as they approached.

He drew Crocea Mors. They were lesser beowolfs, the same sort that he'd faced weeks ago in his first ever fight on Remnant. From what he'd heard on the radio, these guys were actually some of the small fries. Guess it was time to show them what he could do now that he had aura.

His grip on Crocea Mors tightened. His aura seeped out and into the weapon itself, strengthening it. He'd wielded the ripper-sword long enough that it was practically a part of him, and his aura went accordingly. He'd learned all about this too in the special on huntsman and huntresses. Thank God for the radio.

Breath deep. Hold. Release.

The beowolves crouched low, prepared to pounce.

He took the initiative.

Pulling the sword's trigger, he launched himself forward and swung, hurtling through the air far faster than he ever could've hoped to achieve back on Earth. He cut straight through a beowolf's head, tearing it to pieces with the sword's many brutal teeth. A triumphant smile for a triumphant moment: his first ever kill with this new aura, his true induction to this world's peculiar combat. He'd killed a huge monster in just a second with just a single strike! Ha! He felt like a superhero!

He proceeded to fly past and gracelessly smash face-first into a tree, then collapse to the ground.

Alright, adjustment was necessary. Superpowers came with some assembly required.

He pried himself up off the ground spat out grains of bark that had been shoved into his mouth, before quickly reorienting against his enemies. The beowolves had turned around to face him as well, but were unable to take advantage of his embarrassing display, if only because he'd been so haphazard about it and they were too stupid. Quickly, however, they growled and charged for him, propelled by a bestial desire to kill the prey before them.

Breath deep. Hold. Release.

He rushed forward, feet firmly planted on the ground this time. He ducked under a clumsy swipe by one, shooting up with a counter swing that raked its abdomen, tearing out chunks of flesh and bone. The creature howled, before collapsing to the ground, writhing in pain and shortly becoming motionless. He propelled his momentum into a stab that skewered another one, the cruel blade's vicious teeth gnawing through flesh until he pried it out. He dodged back from another's snapping jaws, then swiped upwards into its face, tearing through its head, sending brain matter and skull fragments flying.

Then he was struck from behind. A beowolf smashed into him with its arms, throwing him up and into the air. His aura flared white, protecting him from a brutal death that most certainly would have arrested him back on Earth. He crashed through low-laying branches that crackled and snapped as he passed, before he fell inelegantly to the ground for the third time in not more than five minutes. Since when had he become a ragdoll for teachers and monsters alike?

He rolled the moment he landed, evading a snarling beowolf that crashed down onto the dirt where he'd been just a second prior, carving out deep rents with its claws. He sprung up from the ground and sliced off the beast's head with one good strike, but once more, he stumbled forward from the over-blown momentum, before tripping head-over-heels into the bushes. Cursing, he wrenched himself from the plants and hurtled to the side, narrowly avoiding another strike. He turned on his heel and swung with the spin, brutalizing the arm that had shot out to stab him. Crocea Mors screamed as he flipped it back around and slashed across the monster's neck, tearing halfway through and driving it to the ground, dead.

He threw himself away to avoid a strike from the final beowolf, readying his sword to charge in and finish the fight.

Someone beat him to it.

A loud gunshot rang throughout the forest. A red blur cut through the air and lodged itself in the beowolf's back. The monster jolted with a shock, before any and all energy within dissipated, and it fell to the ground. A bronze and red spear stuck out of its back.

The Wanderer hoisted his sword and cautiously scanned the forest, trying to penetrate through the thick haze of greenery and see whatever had entered the fray. He had fallen back into a low stance, ready to evade or attack whatever that may be.

"Hello there." A voice. A woman's voice. Not a second later, she stepped out from the trees, revealed. She was tall, at least at tall as he was, dressed in an outfit of crimson and copper. Her hair was a strong shade of scarlet; her eyes, emerald green.

Wait, her eyes... oh God damn it.

"Well then, it looks like we're partners, right?" she asked. The smile she wore was a little too wide, a little too genuine, for him to conceive that she was anything other than legitimately excited.

Good for her.

She effortlessly tore the spear out from the Grimm, which had already begun to dissolve. The Wanderer was also radiating an acrid, black steam as the blood and flesh and bone that he'd violently ripped from the Grimm began to evaporate. It made for easy cleaning, at least.

His new partner strode up to him, confidently. Actually, she straightened her back a bit more, tilted her head just a bit higher before she spoke. "My name is Pyrrha Nikos," she said with a kindly smile, holding her hand out for him to shake.

He didn't entertain the idea of greeting her for even a single second.

Instead, he looked up into the sky, squint and peering up through the canopy. "North is that way," he said, pointing. "We should get going."

"Huh, oh, how do you know?" Pyrrha asked, still holding out her hand.

"The sun rises in the east and sets in the west, right?"

She nodded tentatively.

"Then north is that way, and the Headmaster said the ruins would be in the northern part of the forest. You take point and I'll follow up." He pointed again into the forest.

Pyrrha let her hand drop. Her look was... uncertain. That was the best way to describe it. Uncertain about what, he didn't know, but that didn't matter. They just needed to move. He again gestured for her to take point. There was no way he'd be leading the way, since that would mean letting her stand behind him. Her, holding that weapon.

Pyrrha hesitantly nodded and marched in the direction he'd indicated. The Lone Wanderer followed. There were no more words.

He dutifully scrutinized the forest, finger on the trigger of Crocea Mors, ready to bring it roaring to life. However, he looked at his new 'partner' more often than anything else. He kept his sword held in such a way that he could easily strike out at her, or, besides that, parry any attacks on her part.

And why would she do that? Why would a girl who'd helped in a fight, come up to him, smiled and introduced herself bother attacking him?

Well... she was friends with that white-haired girl, right? Yes... maybe that was it. Even if it wasn't, he had a feeling. He had a feeling that crawled around under his skin whenever there were people around him who were out of his sight. It was a scratchy, itchy sensation that set his thoughts quivering in agitation. A natural response to this girl who may have a motive unknown to him, a motive she held close within the impenetrable confines of her own mind. People were innately insidious, after all. It wasn't irrational in the slightest to think that she might wish to harm him.

No, not irrational at all.

"I think I've found something," Pyrrha said. His eyes snapped immediately in the direction she was pointing. Sure enough, there was what appeared to be a cave entrance. She approached it, straying from the northern direction they'd been trudging in. He obliged to follow. "Look at these markings, do you think perhaps this is the ruin the Headmaster mentioned?"

The Lone Wanderer left her question hanging in the air as he insepected the crude drawings of stick figures fighting a scorpion.

"The drawings might mean a ruin," he said, "But caves are dangerous. This could have all sorts of stuff inside." Images of deathclaws, yao-guai and giant ants hidden in dark, earthy corridors came to mind. He grimaced. "Then again... they wouldn't want to make this easy for us, would they?" Of course, it could never be easy, damn it. "A cave filled with monsters would definitely be a good test..." And if they'd thrown them off a cliff already, why not force them into a deadly, dark dungeon of doom for these 'relics'?

"Uhm, I suppose it would," Pyrrha said, holding out the point of her spear at the cave.

The Wanderer flipped a dial on his pip-boy, turning on its industrial flashlight and shining the pale white beam into the cavern, where it cut deep into the darkness. Nothing was revealed aside from slippery rocks and puddles, but the cave clearly went on for a while. He nodded at Pyrrha to enter.

"Shouldn't you lead, since you have the light?"

He narrowed his eyes.

She held his gaze for a moment, before huffing. "Well, fine," she said, each syllable tinged with exasperation. This was the first spark of indignance she'd yet conveyed. Before the day was over, she'd certainly have a fire's worth.

She marched into the cave, weapon in hand, and the Wanderer followed.

* * *

He really hated caves.

They'd been sprinting for several minutes now, and that gigantic radscorpion wasn't letting up. Oh no, it screeched and crashed its way through the forest after them, either smashing through or scrabbling over anything that got in its way.

Even the biggest albino radscorpion he'd ever seen (and those things got _big)_ was nothing compared to this monstrosity. Dear God, why had he been dropped off in a world that somehow had even larger, meaner monsters than Earth?

The deathstalker, as Pyrrha had called it, screeched behind him, a sound like rending metal. Its snapping claws played a sharp, staccato rhythm that sounded like swords crashing together. Its many feet drove into the ground, causing an uproar of harsh, dull beats. All in all, he was being chased by a monstrous orchestra of death.

Good for him and bad for the deathstalker, the Lone Wanderer already possessed a large amount of experience running away from giant deadly monstrosities.

His breathing level, his legs limber, he sprinted through the forest. His partner was much the same, although he doubted she'd built up her stamina through exposure to life or death situations of fight or flight and choosing the latter. Still, at least the people of this world were as fit and hardy as he was, otherwise she'd have been caught and he'd have had to come back and rescue her. It was actually the case, to his consternation, that she managed to stay a few paces ahead of them the entire time. Stamina could be deadly in a fight, He'd been the famed Lone Wanderer back home, but here was up against people who've been training all their lives with the superpowers he'd just acquired. If he ever got into a proper fight with one of them, he'd be lucky not to smash his face into another tree!

During his inattention, he smashed into a small tree, destroying it completely as he stumbled forward and kept fleeing.

He spat out splinters, _again_. Fine, less thinking, more running.

Their mad dash eventually brought them hurtling out of the tree line and into a meager field, where another battle already raged. A giant black bird, a nevermore, was circling in the air, terrorizing several other students around what appeared to be—

"Ruins!" he yelled. Yeah, they were being chased in a life-or-death situation, but he'd be damned if he let some stupid animal stop him from getting into Beacon!

He charged for the ruins, Pyrrha just beside him, deathstalker just behind. He dashed between crumbling stone columns and snatched something—which he really hoped was a relic—off a pedastal before darting away. He glanced back. Maybe the stone structures would be strong enough to slow down—

The eight-legged hell-beast barreled through the ruins, smashing through everything in its way without losing a second of time, smashing through the Wanderer's hopes simultaneously.

Great.

"A little help here!" Pyrrha yelled.

He glanced over. What the Hell did she expect him to do!? Oh wait, she's talking to those people over there, those people who... who hopefully don't hold grudges.

Apparently not, for the orange-haired girl and her green-clad friend must've heard them and answered the call, rushing over even as the other students took after the nevermore. Maybe it was just because Pyrrha had been the one to call them, or maybe they weren't so petty as to allow personal animosity to stop them from helping people. If the latter was true, then maybe they deserve a few nicer words.

Impetus aside, he had a fight to win. With four people, this could work. That thing was big, but it'd probably fall to the same tactics that worked on radscorpions. The trick was crippling its legs. If you do that, then you can finish it off from afar. His magnum only had six shots, not enough to end it, but that wouldn't matter. They didn't have to kill this thing, just immobilize and leave with their relics. The only problem would be that stinger and those pincers, which could strike out to the side. Someone would need to try and stay in front of it and keep its attention so the others could flank it and strike.

That would be the single deadliest role in the entire encounter.

"Circle around it!" he yelled. "Get on either side of it and hit its leg! I'll distract it from the front!" The approaching duo looked at him, each shooting him indignant scowls as they were undoubtedly accosted by memories of who he was like. Nevertheless, they acted on his commands, at least letting the urgency of battle guide them more than emotion.

Those two and Pyrrha all broke off to the sides as he simultaneously spun about and drew the Mysterious Magnum. It would do little to nothing in terms of damage, but it might just get the bastard's attention.

Breath deep. Hold. Release.

Normally, he never would've been stupid enough to fire the pistol one-handed, not wanting to break his wrist, but aura was aura, and he pulled the trigger. Two shots rang out and two bullets crashed into the monster's face. A chip was picked off of its white carapace by one; a beady red eye was ruptured and destroyed by the other.

It screamed and shot forward.

He holstered the Mysterious Magnum and hoisted Crocea Mors just in time to deflect the golden stinger. He pulled down on the sword's trigger and it writhed with power. He backpedaled to avoid its snapping pincers, striking back at them with glancing blows from his sword that did nothing more than scratch it. That was all he needed.

His companions rushed to either flank and wasted no time darting in to cripple the beast. Pyrrha stabbed straight into one of its joints with her spear, skewering the limb before tearing it out and leaping back. The guy darted in and quickly inflicted a succession of slashes at one of the legs, twisting it garishly. The other girl simply brought her hammer down in a full arc and brutally smashed one of the legs into a sickeningly irregular angle.

The monster took notice and backpedaled to try and force all of the combatants in front of it. The Lone Wanderer pressed forward with a loud yell, waving Crocea Mors, which still roared its violent call, to try and keep the attention on him. He lashed out a few glancing blows at it pincers as well, just for good measure. It worked, and the monster quickly focused all of its pained rage on the Wanderer. Its stinger lashed out lightning fast, a golden blur that careened towards him.

A slight bolt of panic snapped through him at the sight of the monstrous stinger. He grit his teeth. He flicked his wrist and threw up Crocea Mors, which sawed into the stinger just in time to deflect it.

But the Deathclaw had more than one weapon at its disposal. Its twin pincers swiped forward, one seeking to decapitate him, the other seeking to simply cut him in two at the waist.

The Wanderer cursed and threw himself back just in time to avoid being taken hold of. Maybe those pincers couldn't immediately tear into his aura, but if that thing managed to get a good grip on him...? He'd be ripped to pieces.

The Wanderer fell back onto the ground and immediately rolled back, dodging another strike from the stinger, which shot down into the spot he'd been at not a second before. He pounced back up to his feet and let out another yell as he raked Crocea Mors across the tail, actually managing to cut deep, leaving the tip of the stinger hanging limply. Huh, he really was a lot stronger now, wasn't he?

It screeched and moved—no, _collapsed_ —forwards. His companions had done a good job of cutting at its legs, but powered by pure rage and its immense momentum, the creature was able to advance upon him nonetheless. It threw both pincers into an outward sweep, hoping to crash them into him and send him flying back.

Frustration bubbled up within him. Why couldn't this thing just stop already!? He planted both feet firmly into the ground and brought Crocea Mors to bear in front of him. He wouldn't let this thing push him around anymore, not if his newfound aura and all its strength had anything to say about. With its stinger decommissioned, he could afford to be still, catching it at the same time and presenting another good opportunity for his companions to strike out at its legs.

Both claws swept out towards him, powered by the strength of its bestial muscles and the weight of its formidable armor. He caught them both with his sword. He was pushed back no more than a few steps, even though this thing could probably have sent a super mutant flying with such an attack. He kept the pincers locked in place with Crocea Mors, which harshly sawed into the pale carapace.

The Monster accepted the challenge, pressing forward and trying to overpower the Wanderer. Even if its immense strength force him to take another step back, he refused to give it any ground.

His companions took advantage of this. They picked apart its legs with brutal precision, and when Pyrrha called out that her side was done, and when the orange-haired girl called out the same, the Wanderer removed himself from the deadlock and leapt back.

The deathstalker tried to follow, but only then did it realize through its fury-induced haze that it was unable to do so. These Grimm really were stupid, weren't they?

His allies stepped back and stood in file alongside him. Pyrrha raised her spear, which shifted and converted into a rifle. The orange-haired girl raised her hammer which collapsed into a grenade launcher. The boy's blades hinged into twin submachine guns.

Somehow, The Wanderer wasn't surprised in the slightest.

He covered his ears, and they opened fire. Even with his hands tightly pressed onto either side of his head, the barrage of explosions and bullets echoed through the field as the scorpion was destroyed. It took a good bit of concentrated fire before the beast finally stopped writhing and screeching. Its corpse began to smoke and dissipate, and soon the only evidence of the deathstalker's existence would be the carnage left on the landscape.

The Lone Wanderer sighed deeply, finally done with the fight against the largest creature he'd yet faced. Well, it wasn't bigger than a behemoth, but it was safe to consider that using fat-mans and mini-nukes was sorta cheating.

He wiped some of the sweat from his brow. He settled his breathing, which had increased a little. Not too much, but a bit. He'd had to run just as fast for much longer, so this really wasn't too bad. Still, he wouldn't be unwelcoming of a break.

"Oh my..." Pyrrha spoke, her voice slightly awed.

The Wanderer looked in the same direction as her, and his eyes widened. There, in the distance, a decapitated nevermore fell from the sky. Stood at the top of a cliff was a small, barely perceivable figure. The red made her unmistakable.

The Wanderer smiled. As far as helpers went, it looked like he'd chosen pretty well. Wait... this _proved_ just how dangerous she was. His face dropped into a scowl and a frown, becoming a painting of revulsion. He'd need to be extremely on edge when around that one.

He shook his head. That was for the future. Right now, the present was more important. Now what was that relic he'd taken? He'd just run past a pedestal and grabbed one at random. Now that he took it out of his pocket, he saw a white chess piece, a rook.

"Oh..." It was the girl, the one with the orange hair, the one he'd shoved and berated. She reached into her pockets and pulled out her own relic, which she held up in the air and presented to him: a white rook.

Shit.

* * *

"For finding the white rook pieces, you four shall henceforth be known as Team JNPR, lead by Jaune Arc."

Applause echoed throughout the auditorium. Pyrrha Nikos clapped along only halfheartedly, and her two teammates, Lie Ren and Nora Valkyrie, didn't clap at all. Neither did Jaune.

She wished she could get a good bearing on him, but that was simply impossible. She'd figured he'd want to, well, get to know her, just like he said he would. Nothing like that had happened yet. No questions, no ice breakers. Nothing.

Then there was his interactions with Nora and Ren. This was notable in that there only interactions were limited to occasionally glaring at one another. Obviously, there was some kind of history there, but she hadn't the first guess as to what. She'd been able to talk with the two of them after Jaune abandoned them following initiation. The instant he left, the duo had lit up, Nora specifically. The girl proved boisterous and exceedingly kind, just the kind of person that Pyrrha had been looking for. Not only that, but she hadn't mentioned her celebrity status at all. Either she didn't know or didn't care, just like Jaune. This seemed to be the case with Ren as well, who'd been quiet, yet polite. That was opposed to Jaune's status as quiet, and nothing else. When she'd questioned them about Jaune, she was granted only complicated expressions and noncommittal excuses to change the subject.

She just hoped this wasn't anything too bad, something they could all work past in time.

They all walked off the platform for the next team, and Jaune instantly diverted to skulk away from the crowd, heading for the door. There it was again. From what she'd seen, he was actually extremely antisocial. Maybe he just had a problem with crowds? Maybe he just didn't like talking to people?

She glanced at Ren, who already gave off a sense of reservation just from the short time that she'd spent with him. Perhaps he and Jaune were similar? Maybe Jaune was just a bit more reserved even than Ren was?

She looked back at her new team leader as he pushed his way through the crowd... pushed. Literally, he pushed people out of his way when they didn't move. Alright, that was a little rude.

She kept looking at him as he crossed the room. He had his hand on the door out of the auditorium when he was stopped by a girl wearing red. She was short and bouncy, certain to be rebuffed easily... or not? They actually chatted for a moment before Jaune gestured towards the door and left, the girl waving goodbye after him. That girl, Ruby Rose, wasn't it? Another team leader... perhaps they were friends? Well, then that might just lend some credence to her theory of his shyness. He made friends, he just wasn't overt about it. He could definitely stand to limit some of his more rude tendencies, but maybe he just suffered from anxiety?

And maybe she was just being desperate again.

Alright, perhaps she was, but perhaps he was just socially anxious and driven to harsh reactions when pressed? Who knows? She certainly didn't.

She shifted from one foot to the other, biting her lip even as she did so. Maybe this hadn't been the best decision for her to make. Maybe she should've just let the dice roll when she found her partner. Or, maybe she could stop being so indecisive and inactive. Why not just actually try and talk to him again? And now that he's away from the crowds and the stress of initiation, maybe he'd be more receptive to introductions? Yes, just give him a little time to be alone and then find him.

Yes. A little time. Just a little bit.

Alright, it'd already been a few minutes since he left, perhaps it'd be fine to go now?

She was only able to take a few steps in the direction of the door before a hand on her arm stopped her.

"I think you should really just leave him alone," Lie Ren said.

"Yeah," Nora echoed, "He... he's not a very nice person."

"What?" Pyrrha asked, "What's that supposed to mean? He-he's my partner I haven't even gotten introduced to him. I only ever learned his name when the Headmaster said it on the stage." She clasped her hands together. "I-I should get to know him, don't you think?"

"I don't think he wants anything like that," Nora said. In the short talk they'd shared on their way back up from initiation and then in the lull afterwards, the girl had been an excitable beacon of happiness. She no longer seemed half so happy. "You should leave him alone. We are."

"What, how can you say that? He's our leader. We should at least try and... do something." She shrugged. "Something, right?"

Ren and Nora shared a look, then glanced back at Pyrrha.

"He wasn't really nice to me..." Nora said.

"It doesn't look like he's very nice to anyone..." Ren said.

No! No, this wasn't happening!

She'd come to another continent for the express purpose of making friends, and she wasn't going to have a partner who refused to acknowledge her existence! She wouldn't just accept this lying down, she could at least go and actually try and talk to him!

She turned her back to them and cut through the crowd, leaving the two behind. She could at least wrestle some sort of words from him, like a 'hello' or a 'how are you' or something like that. That was all she wanted. Really, that was all she needed!

She just needed to talk to Jaune Arc.

* * *

The Lone Wanderer wasn't in the mood for talking—he never was.

As such, he'd escaped and now stood at the cliffs of Beacon, cigarette in hand. He'd had to steal it, since it was illegal for people under eighteen to buy them... God damn laws. Not like he'd had any money anyway, since he'd given away his last. He'd been assigned to a state of destitution for the few days before Beacon began. It actually hadn't been bad, not at all. It was pretty easy to find food on the streets, and there were plenty of places around the city to sleep at night. A lot better than the wasteland, anyway.

He looked out over the cliffs, saw the evening sun cast a glittering glow over the lush, green forest. A lot better than the wasteland, indeed. He pulled in a breath from his cigarette, savoring the sensation, which was a lot better than anything he'd managed to find back on Earth, probably because everything back there was either crudely hand-made or hundreds of years old. Neither made for the best smoking experience. He sighed and let out a cloud of smoke, basking in the rough scent.

Things were nice.

"Uh, hello?"

Things had been nice.

"I-I just thought I'd come and try to have a decent conversation," Pyrrha said, "I know that we haven't really talked..." Her words lingered in the air. "I... is now not a good time? Would you rather we just talk later?"

She wasn't going to let it up, was she?

He sighed. He turned to face her fully, looking right into her eyes. Those sparkling, emerald eyes.

"Alright, let me tell you something Pyrrha."

"Yes?" The edges of her lips tilted upwards and her posture straightened, a sickening display of hope.

"Leave me alone."

Her eyes widened; her shoulders sagged; her smile faded.

"Huh-"

"Don't talk to me, don't look at me, don't think about me, don't even come near me. Pretend I don't even exist, because I'm sure as Hell going to pretend that you don't."

Her eyes became dominated by a sincere expression of... panic. Yes. Panic, and even some pain.

"What are you talki—"

"Shut up."

She took a step back as if he'd hit her. Those eyes, they held his gaze, and they asked a question that he hadn't let her words convey: why?

"I don't know you, and I don' want to know you." He only ever set out to 'know' people so much as he needed to evaluate whether or not they were a threat. He'd already seen her combat prowess, her physical ability. He'd looked her up on his scroll after he'd left them behind following initiation. She was a renown fighter. The danger she presented him was greater than perhaps anyone else in the school.

"So fuck off."

Her eyes were soft, pained. They held a lot of pain. Everything about her did. From her posture (which was slouched and defeated) to her face (which was shocked and aghast), she portrayed the view of someone hurt.

He hadn't expected her to get this upset.

She swallowed. She even reached up to massage her throat, which was undoubtedly blocked and aching, in the way that only happened alongside pain.

He wanted to look away from her, but found himself unable to any such thing.

She finally broke eye contact, staring down at her feet. He could still see those emerald eyes, which shone in a tell-tale manner. Wait, she wasn't going to cry? No, not tears, just a plain manifestation of discord. Why was she like this? He was some random guy she'd just met, why would she be so hurt? What kind of importance had she put onto him already!?

She took a few deep breaths.

Good, calm down. Calm down or get mad. Just get mad. Get angry at me. Get angry at me the way Nora has.

Pyrrha Nikos raised her head and looked him dead in the eyes, a slight sneer on her face, barely perceptible yet starkly contrasting the placid and kindly girl he'd thus far observed.

She was angry, sadness gone.

He let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding.

"Fine," she spat, "If that's what you want, then that's what you'll get. I-I'll just spend time with Nora and Ren, at least they aren't awful." She continued to stare at him. What was she waiting for? Was she giving him one last chance of some sort? Fine, he'd use that.

He was finally able to turn away from her, now that her eyes shone with hate. He waved one had dismissively. "You can fuck off now."

She did. Without another word, she turned on the spot and stomped away, heels cracking imperiously against the ground.

Jesus Christ, first Nora and now Pyrrha... why couldn't people just take the hint and leave him alone? Why'd they have to press? It was their fault, then. Yeah... it was their fault... they should know better.

He remembered again the look on Nora's face when they'd first met. Rather, he remembered the way it had melted after he'd shoved her. He remembered his much more recent encounter with her, wherein a stony expression dominated the bubbly girl when she was in his presence. And, of course, the dim light in Pyrrha's eyes still burned in his vision.

At least now they were both mad at him instead.

"Whatever, not like I care anyway," he grumbled.

He tried to take another drag from his cigarette, only to frown. It was smashed. His grip had unwittingly tightened and completely crumpled the cigarette into a twisted corpse of paper, fiber and ash.

He snarled and threw it to the ground.

* * *

He'd arrived to their room early and claimed a bed, the one nearest to the wall. He'd thrown his bags on top of it and shoved it up against the wall. Then he'd left before the other came. Now it was night when he'd returned, ready to get to sleep and not spare a word, not give them so much as a single glance more than he needed to make sure they weren't up to anything.

He entered the room. No one spoke to him; he spoke to no one.

He laid on his side and pressed his back against the wall, blanket draped loosely over him. One hand reached under his pillow, near the Mysterious Magnum. He stared with lidded eyes as the rest of his 'team' settled down, climbing into their own beds. Pyrrha turned off the lights.

The Lone Wander's nerves shot up once he was shrouded in darkness, but he kept his eyes wide open, breath eventually evening out again as his vision adjusted. He'd make out any shapes that approached him; he'd pull out his pistol quick enough to stop anyone who came near.

He stared at them as they shifted under the covers, trying to get the most comfortable, or trying to find the most advantageous positions to rest in, just as he had. Time bled by. His 'team' slowly stopped moving and settled into stillness, their breath dominated by steady rhythm, signaling that they truly were asleep.

Or at least pretending.

Every time the Wanderer's eyes drifted shut, a gruesome image would stab into his consciousness, of those people he had to sleep with. They'd rise once he finally fell away to sleep, once he'd finally let his guard down. They'd have their weapons, which they'd snuck in just as he had his. They'd close in on his bed. They'd smile. They's raise their arms in the air, blade edges glinting cruelly from what little moonlight seeped into the room through the curtains. They'd kill him.

Every time his eyes shut, he had that thought, and they snapped back open. Accordingly, he didn't sleep for several hours.

What would their motivation be? He didn't know, but just because he didn't know, didn't mean it didn't exist. It would be foolish to think such. Still, it wasn't even any conscious act on his part. The thoughts simply appeared and forced their way into his mind, and once they were there, he just wasn't able to push them out.

However, the wear from being launched off a cliff and fighting a giant scorpion had taken a toll. Mind-over-matter lasted for only so long, and eventually his eyes did shut. Exhaustion beat down paranoia. He fell to sleep.

There would be no respite for him there.

* * *

Dogmeat wagged his tail as he sauntered back, stick in mouth. Jane and John were both cooing for him to approach them, but the ever-loyal hound padded past. A young man with blonde hair and two blue eyes reclined in a ruined old lawn chair, lounging in the setting sun.

They were in the DC suburbs during the waning twilight hours. The ruined house behind them would be their camp for the night, but before anyone went to sleep, before guards were posted, before night fell, they'd have some fun.

Dogmeat happily dropped the stick at his master's feet and barked excitedly. The young man bent over and picked it up off the ground. In his comfortable laziness, he decided to delegate the actual task of throwing it to John. Accordingly, he threw it as his head.

John cursed and barely caught it in time to stop a black eye, subsequently glaring at him. Jane walked over, laughing, and gave the lounging teen a high-five. John's grumbling quickly subsided as Dogmeat frantically scrabbled at his feet, whining for him to throw. With a fresh smile, he did just that, and the dog was off, rushing down across the yard and quickly retrieving the stick. He gnawed on it happily as he came back, again dropping it off by his master.

Once more, he delegated the task. This time, however, he threw it to the team's resident super mutant, who caught and looked at it hesitantly. Dogmeat's desperate begging for play, however, quickly erased his trepidation. He threw the stick... which flew high and far, eventually crashing through the half-shattered window of a house down the street.

Dogmeat only whined.

John and Jane and the young man quickly broke down in laughter, which Fawkes followed shortly, and even Dogmeat's melancholy was overcome by the collective festivity. The young man continued to chuckle even as he closed his eyes, content to let the laughter of his friends and the soft touch of the setting sun lull him into a state of peace.

Life was good.

"No, no, no, this isn't right at all."

His eyes shot open. Come from nowhere, another young man with two blue eyes stood directly in front of him, blocking out the sunlight, blocking out his view of his friends, blocking out with his voice the sound of their laughter. He couldn't have been any older than seventeen, even though he looked more mature in that crisp military uniform, an officer's formal attire. A genteel smile graced his face, wide and kind. He was strikingly handsome for his age, a figure of good health and attraction. His vitality was channeled through his easy expression, creating a sense of youthful, vibrant kindness.

The young man who would one day be called the Lone Wanderer wanted to do many things. He wanted to leap up and attack. He wanted to scream. He wanted to run away. He would do none of these things, for Bishop Beauvais acted first.

The monster snapped his fingers, and the world bled away. In an instant, the sunlight and the friends and the laughter was annihilated, replaced by an all-consuming darkness. Suddenly, the Lone Wanderer was trapped.

"There we go," Bishop said. "That, that was the past. Now this, _this_ is the present."

He was in a dark room—no entrance, no exit.

It was too dim to make out any details. There were no walls, just a great nothingness that simultaneously stretched out forever and pressed close to him, claustrophobically so. It was an all-encompassing blackness that shrouded everything.

He tried to thrash and struggle, but a terrible paralysis gripped him, stopped him from so much as flinching. He couldn't even move his head, couldn't even close his eyes, couldn't even open his mouth to scream. How he wanted to scream, to yell, to curse. All at the one who stood across from him.

Bishop was wrapped in darkness, such that the Wanderer could only make out his vague figure. Still, he could feel that smile, even without seeing it. He felt that warm smile and those kindly eyes, both made of pure rhinestone. He felt a disgusting tightness in his stomach, the overpowering sense of sickness that this monster inspired within anyone who knew what he was capable of.

"It's nice to see you again," he said. That voice, that disgusting voice. It was tinged with a refined accent reminiscent of southern aristocracy, the same accent as Eden and Autumn. Everyone in the Enclave possessed it, just one more way for them to separate themselves from the mutated savages of the wasteland.

"I'm glad to see you getting along well with your new team," he said with a light, airy chuckle that sounded as if he'd just heard a close friend tell a polite joke. He always had a way of speaking as if he was talking with someone he cared for deeply, as if he was giving a legitimate, kindhearted compliment. The bastard.

"Here, I'll let you talk, if only to make things more interesting." He snapped his fingers, a sharp crack emanating through the dark room, and the Wanderer felt his jaw loosen, control returning.

"You son of a bitch!"

"Oh my, you seem to be upset."

"Fuck you! Get out of my head!"

"I think I'll muzzle you again," Bishop said. He snapped his fingers once more, and the Wanderer's mouth shut closed, once more unmoving. "Obviously, you aren't in the mood to contribute to any sort of meaningful conversation. Tsk, tsk, tsk. You ought to appreciate the gift of speech." He leaned forward, and the Wander barely made out his hand reaching out in the dark. He tensed at he felt Bishop's fingers prod his throat. "You really should be more careful with what you say. From what I can see, your words aren't doing you any favors. The only person you've even been somewhat nice to is that Ruby girl. Funny, how you rushed to check on her, then nearly berated her away. Pushed her away." Bishop lightly reached out and slapped a hand against his shoulder, a disgustingly friendly action. "An interesting dichotomy, no? Rush for good; instantly resort to brashness for... for what? Just to make them mad?"

The Wanderer glared at him, for it was the most he could do.

"Sure, you can pin a lot of it on paranoia, but wouldn't it be better to make friends out of potential threats? You've made a lot of these enemies on your own. No subconscious reaction has driven you to consciously tell everyone off. Nope, all you. And now, most everyone here already hates you." Bishop leaned back and hummed. "Your partner, Pyrrha, for example. A deadly person, she is, yet you went out of your way to burn that bridge. Strange indeed." He hummed once more, a despicably soft sound. "You know, Maxwell Noble would never have spoken to anyone this way."

In that moment, every last fiber of the Lone Wanderer's being ached as he struggled to attack.

"Maxwell Noble: the person you wish you could be. Isn't that right? Of course it is." Bishop wistfully looked away, as if staring at something far in the distance, something nearly out of sight and certainly out of reach. "Maxwell Noble... too bad he's dead now, hm? Now all the world has is _you_. You, who's gone around wearing some form of a snarl or a sneer at every moment." Bishop turned back to him, observing with those handsome blue eyes, clouded behind darkness.

"Now that I think about it, it's almost as if you _want_ to make enemies, almost as if you're _trying_ to burn bridges, just so no one can cross. Now _that_ would be strange, wouldn't it?"

He wanted to make enemies? Ridiculous... the Wanderer never went out of his way to anger people... he just acted accordingly. It was for the best if these potential adversaries were away from him. There was no other reason. Absolutely.

"Why would that be, I wonder? Well... it's a lot easier to deal with losing an enemy than a friend, isn't it?"

The Wanderer struggled with all his might to attack, but not a single muscle did so much as twitch.

"Or maybe it's because plenty of enemies means plenty of reasons to leave, hm? After all, you are the _Wanderer_. Danger gives you all the excuses you need to keep on the move." Bishop leaned in. "You've been running for a long time. But from what? The past? The future?"

The Wanderer could feel the shining smile ripping into him through the darkness.

"Actually... I'd say you're running from both."

What? The Wanderer wasn't running, he was going from place, living his life. There was no fear here.

"Oh, come now, don't look at me like that. We both know you're a coward. We both know you can't handle what happened. You're weak. You were weak then, so you failed; you're weak now, so you can't even face the memories." Bishop laughed softly. "A pathetic weakling. You can't even bear the thought of it happening again."

Even through the diatribe, Bishop's voice sounded as nice and polite and genteel as ever, and the Wanderer knew that that rhinestone was still shining behind the darkness. Never had he seen Bishop drop that façade of kindness. No matter how the cruel the words, they always sounded nice.

"So just keep on running. Just keep on making enemies and running away, never getting close, because you're too weak to do anything else. Do you even have a goal in life, anymore? What's your motivation?" Bishop laughed once more. "I know what your motivation is: fear. That's the only things that drives you now."

Bishop walked around the Wanderer, out of sight. All of his nerves were set on fire as the great adversary fell out of view. The next time Bishop spoke, it was closer, so close that the Wanderer could feel his cold breath on the back of his neck.

"One has to wonder, though, why you've chosen the life you have. Going from place to place, angering everyone you meet, killing people and instigating people to kill you, doing 'good' as you pass by. It's just about the most dangerous life you could possibly live, isn't it?" Bishop hummed yet again, the only outward manifestation of his speedy thought process. "Then again, maybe that's the point? It keeps you running, it keeps you distracted, and that's the important part. If you stay still, then you might let people in. Might feel the impetus to be nice every now and again. Might make friends." Bishop laughed once more. "But now you've stopped, haven't you? Are you here to stay?"

The Wanderer could only glare.

"Oh, who am I kidding. Of course you're not. Staying would mean facing it, and we both know you don't have the spine to do that." Bishop clapped his hands together, a single solid smack that echoed throughout the dark room and would've made the Wanderer wince, if only he could. "So just keep on pushing people away and keep on running, then you won't ever have to deal with it again, will you? Keep on making enemies, since it's easier to lose them than people you care for. Keep on making enemies, so you have an excuse to flee. You pathetic failure." Bishop leaned in close, face just a foot from his. "You should've died back there, you know? You deserve to have died." Bishop snapped his fingers.

The Lone Wanderer was silent.

"Hmph, I thought as much. Just keep living this hollow 'life' of yours, just keep pushing people away, since Lord knows you'd never be able to keep them safe."

He snapped. "Just shut up! Shut up! You bastard! Just leave me alone! I killed you! You're dead! You're gone! Get out of my head!"

The Lone Wanderer was left breathing heavy from his outburst, a scratchy pain digging into his throat from how hard he yelled.

Bishop only laughed and snapped his fingers again, once more stripping the Lone Wanderer of his voice, once more rendering him completely powerless within the dark room.

"You're right—I am dead, and you killed me." He leaned closer still, until the Wanderer could feel the crude heat from his skin and the cool breath from his mouth. "But you're wrong, too. I'm not gone, not now, not ever. I'm always going to be right..." He reached out with one hand and poked the Wanderer in the chest, just above his heart. "… here."

He stabbed his finger harder against the Wanderer. A terrible feeling coalesced within his chest, a horrible, foreign _presence_ that sat right where his heart was supposed to be. It was awful; it was wrong; it was painful.

Bishop chuckled as the horrendous feeling only coalesced and became heavier, even more unbearable, even more invasive and defiling.

* * *

He woke with a start, only to find that he was similarly paralyzed in his bed as he had been in the dream. For a good minute, he was unable to move at all, entire body clenched and constricted, trembling ever so slightly. The despicable feeling in his chest persisted, a tight knot of pain under his ribs that shouldn't be there. It just shouldn't be there. He couldn't even breath, and panic shot through him at the thought that he may very well asphyxiate.

For a seemingly endless moment, he was left shaking, unable to move, gasping desperately for breath as the wicked sensation in chest continued to boil.

Eventually, however, things began to calm. His lungs were released from whatever terrible grip had constricted them, and he was finally able to draw in air once more. His muscles began to relax. An incredible lethargy replaced the coursing, painful energy that had just dominated his system. The awful feeling in his chest gradually subsided, giving way to a dull ache that still felt so incredibly violating.

He was covered in a sheen of sweat; nonetheless, he shivered. He clutched the blankets close, curling up tightly, wishing to dispel the disturbing chill that had settled upon him. Every muscle in his body quivered with exhaustion. His breath came and went in ragged, quick gasps. His thoughts were dull, for he could focus on nothing other than the disgusting sensations of wear and pain that dominated his body.

He didn't go back to sleep.

* * *

 **The Lone Wanderer continues to be... not very nice. However, I hope that this time around, it's a bit easier to empathize with him since it's from his POV and we get a bit of an explanation as to why this is happening. Then again, you weren't really supposed to empathize with him last time. Still, there was a bit of confusion (justifiably) that I figured I ought to try and address. The good thing about being able to get real-time feedback from an audience is that I can tailor things to make sure everything makes sense and remains satisfying, which are traits that I hope persists throughout this story.**

 **And we finally get to see Bishop again, for what I believe is the first time since the first scene of this fic. My much alluded to OC villain will be getting more love in the future, in terms of both his own personal history and how he's connected to the Wanderer's. I hope you'll all love hating him.**

 **Also, Maxwell Noble. We'll be learning a lot more about him in time as well. There's a lot of stuff in this chapter that will take a while to be fully revealed.**

 **Anyhow, come back around this time next week for the next update. I'm gonna try and make this time-frame the official update time that I'll always try to follow, give or take several hours. Sorry if you're an Aussie and this is a little late to fit into you weekend reading schedule.**

 **As always, any and all reviews and/or questions are both welcomed and encouraged!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Here we are with the next update. Hope you all enjoy.**

* * *

 _You can't just leave us like this, not after everything we've all worked for._

 _Really? Everything we've worked for... look around, what do I have? What have I worked for? What do I have Lyons? What do I fucking have anymore!? Huh? What do I fucking have!?_

 _Please, just—_

 _No! Shut up! I've followed you and the Brotherhood and the Regulators and my Dad, for fucking what!? Huh? For what!? This? This!? Here in a fucking hospital, with nothing? Nothing!_

 _Please, just calm down—_

 _Fuck you! Like I'm gonna calm down! You can take your Godforsaken knighthood, I don't want it anymore. Take my badge too, give it to Sonora. I'm done, I'm done with it all. To Hell with each and every single fucking one of you! I'm done! I've followed you and your stupid fucking causes all the way here. I'm out!_

 _Is that so? You're 'out'? Everything we've all worked for, everything_ _ **you've**_ _worked for... you're just going to leave it all behind?_

 _You're damn right I am._

 _And what then, once you've sworn off all your allegiances, all your vows, all your principles. What will you do, become some sort of lone wanderer trekking across the wastes?_

 _You're damn fucking right. Actually, you hit it on the fucking head._

 _Please don't do this—_

 _From now on, you can just call me the Lone Wanderer._

"Mr. Arc?"

The Lone Wanderer's head shot up off of the desk. He peered around sporadically, before seeing a large, round stomach. Looking up, he saw the mustachioed face of Professor Peter Port. Had he fallen asleep in class?

"It appears that you've fallen asleep in my class, young man."

Whoops.

"I hope you didn't knock off too early, otherwise you would've missed my incredible story about the young Peter and his fantastic exploits! As it is, I think you missed a most excellent match between a vile boarbatusk and the young miss Schnee." Professor Port nodded in the directions of Weiss, who was laboring over her back-pack, still lightly panting. She was one the few people left in the room, most having left the second class ended. Only the ones who'd fallen asleep and their associated teams were still around. Well, his team wasn't.

"I'm sorry professor, it won't happen again," the Wanderer said. It certainly wouldn't. The danger implicit with falling asleep around people was immeasurable, and he was already seething underneath his skin. How could he be so stupid? Idiot, idiot.

"Lad, I'll let you off just this first time, since it's our first day of class. Anyhow, go find your team and have some fun exploring the school." Port waved him away as he walked down the aisle of desks to another dozing student. Huh, guess that falling asleep in this class wasn't so uncommon.

He searched through his belongings to make sure that everything was in order. No one had been sitting near him, sat in the back corner of the classroom, but that didn't mean no one could've snuck by while he was asleep.

Eventually satisfied that all was well, he stood and stretched his back, sighing with satisfaction as the vertebrae popped. It always felt so nice to stretch out after a rest. He picked up his bag and made to go, before something caught his eye. It wasn't an unfamiliar sight, at this point, but that made it no less attractive.

Weiss Schnee... she really was hot, sheesh. Not for the first time, he thought that maybe he should've been a little nicer to her, if only for the associated opportunities. But no, he'd never let himself get into a relationship with someone, not even casually, especially since he'd be leaving soon enough. Especially since it was _her_. Pretty as she was (and she was _very_ pretty), it'd be impossible to stand that attitude. Still, couldn't hurt to look, right? At the moment, she was bent double over her bag, trying to sort out the equipment inside. She wore that peculiar combat outfit of hers, with a battle skirt reminiscent of Ruby's. How these girls managed to fight in skirts and high heels, he would never know, but they still managed to do it, and they did it well. Besides, he wasn't complaining. The outfit looked great on her. The skirt, although it hid a bit, still managed to allude to her rear, which he was currently observing with masculine attention.

He heard someone cough, angrily.

He slowly looked up from Weiss's behind, running his eyes along her body until his met hers. Her eyes, looking at him. Looking at him leering at her. Those eyes, like two vicious shards of ice sharp enough to stab him, above an imperious sneer. She didn't seem very happy.

He gulped.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he turned his head away, before taking his bag and leaving the room. Welp, getting caught staring wasn't a fun experience, but he couldn't help but smirk while walking off. It was a little funny, wasn't it? Heh, for all he was worth, for all the legend of the Lone Wanderer entailed, he was still beholden to those same teenage instincts.

He waited outside the door. Weiss shortly stormed out, followed closely by Ruby, but before he could get a word in to the little red weapons expert, she rushed off after her partner. Great.

He sighed. Guess there'd be another opportunity later in the day to talk, especially since their rooms were right across from one another. Still, it wasn't the opportunity to talk that he wanted, so much as the opportunity that the talk would provide. He needed to work on his weapons, more than anything else.

That was the only reason he was putting up with the brat.

He turned towards the hall, determiend to the cafeteria, secure a meal to go, then escape to his room and wait until Ruby arrived. As usual, his plan fell apart instantly.

"Hello, Mr. Arc," said a man before him. The Lone Wanderer recognized him immediately. How could he not? Grey hair. Small glasses. Coffee mug. Green suit. Cane. Headmaster Ozpin of Beacon Academy. "How was your first day of school?"

How was his first day of school? Really? The Headmaster came out here and specifically singled him out, waiting past all the other students coming by, just to talk to him and ask him how his first day was? There was something here. There always was. God damn it, why did he always seem to end up getting on people's agendas?

"It was fine," he said, resisting the urge to let suspicion slip into his posture or voice.

"There's no need to be on edge, Mr. Arc."

He'd tensed his shoulders and narrowed his eyes ever so slightly. Of course he'd gotten figured out immediately, and now Ozpin was likely wondering why he'd be so stiff. Not for the first time, he longed to once more wear his filtration mask, which covered both face and voice.

"You're not in trouble," the Headmaster said, "I hope you don't think me so cruel as to impose punishment on the very first day.

"No... I just didn't expect this."

"That I can understand, but I only wish to speak with you. Come, how about we go for a little walk, somewhere more private." The Headmaster, confident in his own authority, turned and strolled away without another word, and the Wanderer was beholden to follow. It wouldn't do to piss of the leader of the entire school, now would it? Sure, he'd much rather do something, _anything_ else other than talk to another person, but concessions were sometimes necessary. Qrow, Goodwitch and now Ozpin, all people he'd have to be at least cordial with.

The Headmaster lead him out of the building and behind the school. A silence stretched between the two of them, but it wasn't awkward or uncomfortable, simply a silence that existed because there was no point in dispelling it. That was nice, at least he wasn't prompting any sort of frivolous small talk. It seemed that the Headmaster was an efficient man, if nothing else.

It wasn't long until they came upon a sight that momentarily took the Wanderer's breath away the second he saw it, literally. His jaw dropped and whatever breath he had was pulled out of his lungs, as if the view had reached down his throat and stole the air for itself. Even his stance, normally so guarded and reserved and tense, became totally slack.

The Beacon gardens.

Lilies and roses and blossoms and carnations and who-knows-how-many other kinds of flowers swayed leisurely in the supple breeze, idly socializing with one another. Their sweet smells radiated from their silky pedals, lightly gracing the Wanderer's senses as he stepped amongst them. Every color of the rainbow shone gently here, an organic spectrum that gently caressed his eyes with their soft, peaceful brilliance. The flowers were contained within boxes of well-trimmed hedges, such that the vibrant plants were safely nestled by the bushes, which were tall enough to reach the waist but short enough to keep the view of the flowers perfectly open. White gravel paths ran throughout, allowing him to stroll amidst it all.

In the center of the garden was a placid pool carved out of the ground and lined with pure white marble, several lotuses gleaming on the still surface. And in the very center of that pool was a small island, on which rested a single tree: a cherry blossom. It's small, delicate, pink petals were at full bloom, many having fallen into the pond, decorating it with pale flecks of pink that drifted lazily.

It was beautiful—it was all so, so beautiful. He'd never dared to hope for seeing something like this with his own eyes.

"Come Mr. Arc, have a seat," Ozpin said. He motioned to a small stone bench that rested beside the pool.

The Lone Wanderer joined him, and the two sat side-by-side, just in front of the cherry blossom. He had to remember to close his mouth, lest one of the leaves fall and drop right inside, though he didn't think he'd mind the taste.

"Wonderful, isn't it?"

"It's incredible."

"We pride ourselves in keeping the Beacon grounds as clean and beautiful as we can, all the better for a calm and productive environment." The Headmaster sipped at his drink. "I just want to get to know you, Mr. Arc. My curiosity has been piqued. Never before has Qrow given us a recommendation, after all."

"Yeah, Miss Goodwitch mentioned that."

The Lone Wanderer looked back to the Headmaster, who only took another sip of his drink. As the initial wonder of the sight bled away, he became aware once more of the Headmaster's proximity, and the usual tension coiled within him.

"Well, I don't really know what I did to impress him," the Lone Wanderer lied. Hopefully, this one would be convincing. Qrow was strange, and his morals were obviously compromised. After all, the man had broken the law by unlocking his aura, then advised him on how to lie about it. He'd also taken the Wanderer in solely for his own corrupted morality. Sure, Miss Goodwitch had been willing to skirt by the law a little to let him in, but there was a big difference between siding with a friend in a case that didn't really hurt anyone, and letting a brutal murderer into your school.

"Well, you certainly managed to make a good impression," Ozpin said. "If you don't want to talk much about the experience, I won't pressure you. I'm just... curious, as previously mentioned. I've known Qrow a long time, after all. I wanted to see you for myself." Ozpin took another sip. He let the mug fall from his lips and turned to look at the Wanderer fully, judging him through his glasses. The blowing wind scattered the steam rising from his drink. "I think I know what it was."

Shit.

"I knew Qrow when he was younger, around your age. Something about your mannerism, the look in your eyes, reminds me very much of Qrow from those years. I think he was reminded of the same."

Huh? Well, as long as he wasn't being accused of war crimes, then everything was alright.

"Qrow had a... difficult upbringing. This made him older beyond his years in a way that no child should have to mature. I see the same in you, Mr. Arc."

"Really?"

"Really."

Well, that was new. Qrow hadn't mentioned anything about his own past. Though now that he thought about, the drunk had taken a particular interest in the Wanderer's upbringing. Could it be that he was comparing both of their experiences? Maybe Qrow had taken him in for reasons beyond just his brutality. Maybe there was a bit of sentimentality to it, as well...

No. The Lone Wanderer was a brutal, vicious person, and sentimentality could never be applied to him. He didn't deserve as much as that.

"Whatever you say, Headmaster."

Ozpin only hummed and sipped from his mug.

For a short while, they sat on that bench, sparing no words, only looking at the cherry blossom tree and the quaint pool in which it sat. Again, it was a satisfying sort of silence. It combined with the calm serenity of their environment to create a pleasant peace that fell upon him, despite the presence of someone so close—Ozpin's amicability wasn't disagreeable. The Wanderer's nerves cooled. His thoughts slowed. It was a nice moment.

"How are you getting along with your team?"

The peace shattered.

Through gritted teeth, the Wanderer managed to say, in a fairly normal-sounding voice, "As well as I want it to go."

"That's nice."

"It is."

"Have I made you upset, Mr. Arc?"

"No."

"You're not the best at lying."

"I don't want to be the team leader." The words flew from his mouth before he could stop them.

Ozpin paused for a moment, idly tapping one finger against the handle of his cane. "Is that so?" He took another sip from his mug, before rising from the bench. "Mr. Arc, rest assured that your position was not chosen lightly. We saw how well you performed in the Emerald Forest, how you took command of the others and defeated the deathstalker."

Obviously, he hadn't been paying attention to how he'd blown off Pyrrha and the rest.

"That combined with Qrow's recommendation made you a solid contender for the position. I've made more mistakes than just about any other man, woman or child on Remnant, but I do not believe that I've made a mistake in choosing you."

He had. The Wanderer cursed at the man in his mind. Oh, he'd made a big, big mistake.

"You have everything you need to be a success."

The Wanderer's knuckles turned white as he gripped them into tight fists.

"This is a burden we carry, being leaders..."

 _So that's why you've got to be careful. That's why you always have to keep your head above water. Even if you're drowning, you've got to be a lifeguard for all the people who depend on you._

 _Sarah... I'm not sure I'm ready for that. I mean, what have I got that they don't? What's so special about me?_

 _It's the way you look at them._

 _What?_

 _The way you look at them. They know that you care about them, just by the way you look at them. That's why they're following you. John and Jane and Fawkes, they know that you value them. That's the most important thing to being a leader. Every member of the Lyons Pride knows that I put a bigger price on them than anything else. Even my own life. Can't you say the same?_

 _I... I think I can._

 _See? They know how much you value them, how much you care._

 _Yeah, but it's not exactly like I can give awesome, rallying speeches or anything, like a real leader._

 _Sheesh, cut that crap. That doesn't matter. Sure, you're no Shakespeare, but you don't need to use words._

 _Wait, what do I do?_

 _You show that you value them, that's what leaders do after all. You don't talk, you take action. You rush out in battle to cover for them. You give them the last stimpak and tough it out yourself. You make sure they're fed before you. It's all these things you do that shows your character, shows you're someone to trust, shows you're a leader to them._

 _Huh..._

 _Everything is based off of mutual respect and care. You show that you care, that you're worth being cared for. And through all the work you do, all the skill you display, you show that you're worth being respected, too. Those are the two most important things to leadership, real, close, personal leadership: love and respect._

 _Yeah... thanks Sarah. I don't know how I've gotten myself into all this, but I'm going to do my best._

 _I know you will; that's all you ever do._

 _So, I guess I'd better get going, huh? My team needs to set out right away._

 _That you do. Colonel Autumn's not going to kill himself, after all._

 _No, no he won't. Thanks again Sarah._

 _No problem—_

"Mr. Arc?"

"Huh? What?"

Ozpin stood before him, stooped over slightly to be eye-level with the Wanderer, who was still sitting back on the bench.

"You seemed to doze off there for a moment. I was a little concerned."

"Huh? Oh... no, no, nothing to worry about... I just had a bad night's sleep, is all.'

"Is that so?"

"It is."

The Headmaster scrutinized the Lone Wanderer for a little while longer, before leaning back into his normal posture. "Well, I hope that you get adjusted to a proper sleep schedule shortly. It won't do to have you exhausted throughout your time here." He turned away and slowly strolled off, his feet and his cane crunching into the gravel as he walked. Almost as an afterthought, he said, "Farewell, Mr. Arc, have a good day."

The Wanderer stayed on the bench for some time.

It was only when Ozpin was well out of sight that he let his head fall into his hands.

* * *

"I don't think I'm cut out for this..."

"Come on, don't say that Ruby. Maybe Weiss was just having a bad day, maybe she was just really tired from having to deal with that boarbatusk, or maybe she's just stupid." Yang shrugged and smiled. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see, huh?"

"Wait and see what? How long it takes for this team to fall apart?" Ruby let out an exasperated breath and slumped against the wall. She'd aimlessly meandered around Beacon for a while after Weiss's rant, halfheartedly hoping that someone would swoop in and help her out with some nice advice on what to do, or maybe just someone to listen. As it was, Weiss's words about her incompetence had continued to boil beneath her skin.

The princess was nowhere to be found when she'd returned to their room. Only Blake and Yang. The former had looked up, then quickly returned to her book. The latter instantly realized that something was off, using that preternatural instinct that siblings possessed. The two sisters had been talking in the hall ever since.

"Ruby, you're a great leader!"

"Of course you'd say that, you're my sister..."

Yang rolled her eyes. "Ruby, it's only been one day. How can Weiss say that you suck if you haven't even had a chance to prove herself?"

"How can you say I'm great?"

"Well, I know you. Weiss doesn't. She just needs some time to see who you are."

Ruby couldn't look her sister in the eye. She looked at the floor instead, idly kicking one foot against the other. "Maybe..." She still wasn't convinced. Weiss was right, after all. She'd been acting like a child all throughout initiation and again in class.

Well... it's not like she hadn't been trying! She'd even gotten them all to wake up early to decorate and stuff. What else did she want her to do? Ugh, she couldn't do anything. No matter what her sister said, there was still a brutal doubt that clawed at her insides. She just couldn't trust anything Yang said, since she'd just want her to feel better.

She sighed bitterly.

"Oh, hello Ruby," someone said. It was a male voice, and not an unfamiliar one.

"Jaune!" She lit up. Her first real friend at Beacon, her only friend outside of her own team (really the only person she even knew outside of her team) and a fellow weapons enthusiast. He looked as stoic as ever, though the dark bags under his eyes clearly displayed a potent exhaustion.

"Are you free right now?" he asked.

"Free?"

"Yeah, so we can go to the armory."

"Oh, right now?" Wait, this could be perfect! Just the thing to get her mind off of all the stuff that had happened. Working with guns and swords and gun-swords always made her forget what else was going on, and working with a friend to boot? Great! Sure, she still had a queasy feeling in her stomach, but bullets were always good for settling things like that.

"Yeah Jaune, I think we can go right now—whoah!"

Yang grabbed her wrist and wrenched her back into their room, slamming the door shut behind them, firmly cutting off Jaune Arc.

"Yang, what are you doing!?" Ruby squirmed out of her sister's grasp, but the strong blonde purposefully stood in between her and the exit.

"Ruby, we need to have a talk."

"What? A talk? What are you—" Ruby stopped dead. No. Come on. There was no way. Well, she'd only freaked out like this once Jaune had come around... could it be?

Her face went _extremely_ red.

"Y-yang! Dad already gave me the talk a few years ago! A-and Jaune and I aren't like that, we just met! There's no way that someth—"

Yang bopped her sister on the head, a firm but not malicious hit, the sort of strike that every younger sibling was used to. That didn't stop Ruby from yelping and rubbing the top of her skull, looking up angrily at her sister. "What was that for!?"

"You were rambling," Yang said, "And you're not right. I don't think you're going to get up to any of... _that_ with him. If I did, then I'd kill him." Yang growled, her eyes flashing red and her hair glowing slightly with the shine of a fire's core.

Ruby eeped.

Yang took a step back and breathed deeply, letting her anger subside. "Okay, okay, got a little freaked out there. Listen, I don't think you're going on a date with the guy or anything... I just don't think you should be with him."

"Yang, I already said it's not like that!"

"No, I mean, at all. Don't be with him at all. Don't talk to him or anything."

Ruby's jaw dropped.

"Why?" She asked splaying out her hands as if her sister would take her reasons and physically give them to her. Perhaps that was the only way that Ruby would be able to wrap her mind around the logic.

"I... I had a little talk with him. He wasn't nice, not at all. I just walked up to say hi. I didn't get more than a sentence out before he told me to eff off, even reached for his gun."

"What!?" Ruby stepped back.

"Yeah, and I've been watching him a bit since then, too. He never talks, _never._ To anyone." She stuck out her finger and pointed right at Ruby. "Except for you. He's got some other angle. Of all the people in Beacon, why'd he decide to choose _you_ to spend time with?"

Ruby was frozen. Had he really talked to Yang like that? Did he really treat people that way? He'd always been polite to her... if it hadn't been for Jaune picking her up off the ground, then she probably would've just shyly wandered through the crowds, oogling at weapons and eventually making her way back to Yang, not having spoken a word to anyone.

But still, why had he chosen her?

Wait, that was it!

"Well, we only really started talking once I brought up weapons. That must be why: he's just like me." Now that she said it out loud, it made even more sense. Someone uncomfortable with talking, who only opened up when they were mentioning weapons? He was the same as her, exactly the same. Well... except he was a boy... and he was blonde... and he had a scar... and there was a lot of stuff about him that was different, but still. "I think you're overreacting a bit. You probably just talked to him at a bad time. Besides, I know he's nice, did I tell you what he did when we first met? Remember how I told you that I exploded?"

Yang nodded cautiously.

"Well, he ran up to check and make sure I was okay, when other people just walked by. See? That has to mean something, right?"

Yang's eyes narrowed. "Maybe... but you're still young and you're still naïve."

Weiss's hateful stare cut into Ruby's mind, and she winced.

"You've always looked for the best in people, sis, and that's great, it really is, but sometimes it can land you in trouble..."

"Like when?" she demanded.

"Like..." Yang trailed off, not saying whatever she'd wanted to say. "Listen, I just don't want to see you getting hurt, and this guy is giving off all sorts of red flags. Can't you trust me?"

"And can't you trust me?" Ruby put her hands on her hips, thrusting her chin up into the air indignantly. Her pout was completed by a sharp gleam in her eye. It was just like Yang to treat her like a little kid who couldn't take care of herself! "Besides, _you're_ the one who kept going on and on and on about how important it was for me to make new friends. That's all I'm doing!"

"Sheesh, Ruby, can't you see that there's something up with this guy? I bet even Blake has noticed something, right?" The two sister both looked over at the quiet girl, curled up on her bed with a book. Her amber eyes peered back.

"He seems a little paranoid, but I don't know anything else. I don't make a habit of spying on random people." Blake shrugged and readjusted herself on the bed, lying back and once more hiding herself behind the novel. Undoubtedly, she wanted no part in whatever sisterly drama was unfolding before her.

"See? He's just a bit shy, Yang."

"There's a difference between 'shy' and 'paranoid' Ruby."

Ruby stamped one foot on the ground. "You can't keep treating me like a baby! I'm the leader here, you know! I'm supposed to be the one in charge!"

"Yeah, well I'm still you're big sister. I've been helping take care of you since you were a little kid, y'know. When have I ever steered you wrong?"

"All the time!"

Yang sighed. "Okay, okay, maybe I'm not the best 100% of the time, but I'm pretty sure I'm right here."

Ruby crossed her arms and let out an exasperated breath. "Ugh, come on Yang. You're the one who told me to break out of my shell. We haven't even hung out at all yet. Can't I see for myself if he's so bad?"

"Ruby—"

"Oh come on Yang!" Her voice took on a sharper tone. "Don't treat me like a little kid! Don't say that I need to grow up! I don't, I drink milk!" She beat one hand against her chest at the triumphan statement. "Come on, like you said, I need to make new friends. He's the only one I have aside from the team."

"And what's the wrong with the team?"

"You know that's not what I meant! Ugh!" Ruby turned away from her sister. "It's not like I can rely on the gang from Signal."

Ruby couldn't see it, but Yang's eyes widened. Her mouth dropped open.

"After all, I just sent them the letter today, so it'll take a little bit for them to get back to me."

Yang's shoulders slumped. "Yeah... yeah it will..."

Ruby turned back around to face her sister. With a put-upon sigh, she said, "So can I just go with him? I'm a huntress in training, you know. I can take care of myself. I'm the team leader, too." Ruby shook her head. "I shouldn't even have to ask for your permission, I'm not a little kid..."

 _You're acting like a child!_

Weiss's words slashed back into her head, and Ruby flinched. She looked at her sister. First Weiss, and now Yang? Did people really respect her so little? Her lips curled into a frown. The combative edge to her posture sagged. It was true then, wasn't it? If she wasn't a child, then Weiss would be fine with her being leader and Yang would be fine with her spending time with Jaune.

Ozpin had really screwed up when he put her in charge.

Her head sunk low, until the only thing she saw was the floor and her own two feet. Beacon was supposed to be great. Now here she was, not respected by her partner or even her own sister, put in a position she wasn't ready for and didn't deserve. Her eyes started to sting. No! No! How pathetic is that, crying like... like a little kid...

"Just trust me on this, Rubes..."

That was it.

"And why can't you just trust me, huh!" Ruby tore here gaze from the floor and leveled it right at Yang; her voice had taken a louder edge that startled her sister. "We're not back home anymore! You can't just boss me around!" She stomped up to her sister. "Now get out of my way!"

She skirted around Yang and reached for the door, and this time, her sister didn't pull her back. Good. Maybe she'd finally agreed with her.

"I won't say I told you so..."

Or not.

"Just leave me alone," Ruby quietly seethed.

She walked out into the hall and slammed the door shut behind her, then took a few steps across and knocked on team JNPR's door.

* * *

The Beacon armory was one of the best that the Lone Wanderer had ever seen. At this point, that honestly wasn't saying much. Remnant had the best of everything, literally everything. The best sky, the best food, the best water, etc. They had the best weapons, too. Only the most advanced and well-maintained wasteland weapons, the sort of things carried around only by the Enclave or the Brotherhood, could match this.

It was a large room that looked like a repurposed warehouse more than anything else. There were no windows, for the complex was underground. Instead, industrial lights screwed to the ceiling kept everything washed in a sterile white glow. Rows of racks filled with tools, spare parts and armaments ran throughout the room, surroundings several work tables. There were only a few staff patrolling to make sure that the students weren't stealing anything or messing around. Weaponry was serious business, after all.

Ruby Rose had quickly proved her worth. As annoying as she was, the Lone Wanderer had done a good job in choosing his weapons expert. Apparently, most at Beacon had a strong grasp on technical knowledge and engineering, at least as much as was necessary to work with their weapon of choice. Some people had simple things like swords, and they'd have been useless to him. Luckily, he'd found the girl who'd built her own sniper-scythe and considered weapon engineering a fun hobby.

They sat a table together, crouched over the Mysterious Magnum. Ruby had taken a moment to go over the weapon, before declaring that there was little that could be done to change such a simple design for the better, especially since it was already in such good shape.

"But it's not outfitted right for dust, is it?" he asked.

"Ooohhh, yeah, yeah, definitely not."

Dust changed the game. It changed everything, actually. He'd learned about it plenty by listening to the radio; it was this world's main source of power. It was also integral to advanced weaponry. After a bit of thought, the Mysterious Magnum seemed like the best start, since it was more able to use dust than Crocea Mors. His ripper blade was a state-of-the-art weapon with a skeleton and teeth of duraframe, powered by a miniature fission battery and designed to saw through everything short of power armor. It'd be just fine for now, especially with his aura reinforcing it. The Mysterious Magnum, however, presented a more pressing opportunity for advancement.

"So you want to use specialized dust ammo with it?" Ruby asked.

"That's the plan," he replied.

She hummed. Her tongue stuck out of the side of her mouth as she thought, a cute gesture. She was cute, that was for sure. That was why he was so tense. She'd proved herself to be incredibly dangerous, far more formidable than anything in the wasteland. She could probably take down a behemoth all by herself. Accordingly, the Wanderer hadn't let his guard down for a second while he was around her. Hands ready to block, feet ready to evade. He was particularly cautious of this one. He hated her, really. He hated her because she'd somehow gotten him to relax.

It had been nice, honestly, relaxing for a little bit.

But that's why it was bad. Who knew what she up to? Who knew what anyone else was up to? Enterprising conspirators could take a moment of weakness to their advantage, and then he'd be done for. This girl... she could be the death of him. If it weren't for her expertise, he'd have pushed her away more ferociously than anyone else, for the way she made him relax. He couldn't tolerate any form of intimacy.

Purely for strategic reasons, of course.

He looked at her again. She was deep in thought, pouring over the Magnum. What had it been, exactly, that had made him relax around her like that before? That wasn't something he'd done around anyone, and now that he'd realized he'd been doing it, he was consciously preventing it.

He'd actually put a bit of thought into it. It had finally hit him after he'd left the garden from his talk with Ozpin: her purity. She possessed a sheer innocence that was innate and radiant, spewing out through just about everything she did, even the simple act of existing at all. A constant niceness hovered about her, just like the garden. That garden had emitted through every facet of its being a sense of innocence and kindness and calm which had cooled his nerves and brought a pleasant lethargy upon him, enough to calm him despite the proximity of another person. She was much like the garden. The way she looked about ditzilly with her silver eyes, the way she smiled easily, the way she walked breezily, all of it combined to create a simple yet powerful presentation.

He'd noticed it the first time they met, when she excitedly preened over Crocea Mors after he drew it, ready to attack her for drawing her own weapon. She hadn't even noticed his intent. At the time, he chalked It up to stupidity, but he knew better now, after seeing her expertise and her nature. She was simply too innocent to consider the possibility that a new friend, that a fellow student, would be ready and willing to hurt her.

She was almost like a child. Almost. There were several factors that bellied such an assumption, even thought it was easy to make the initial comparison. Certainly, however, she was a child at heart, if not in actuality.

Strangely enough, he hadn't actually found it hard to stay strict around her this time. The moment he'd opened the door after she knocked, there seemed to be something off about her. She still smiled, but there was something wrong with it. He didn't know what exactly, but he could feel it, like someone looking into the ocean, unable to see deep under the water but still able to _know_ that there was something lurking below. He'd actually almost asked if she was alright earlier, but the urge was quickly suppressed.

No more conversation than necessary. No more thinking than necessary, either! Get back on task.

"So, what do you think," he asked.

"Huh?" Ruby's head snapped up, shocked out of the trance she'd slipped into, as people when distracted by a passion. "Well," she answered, "I think the frame's strong enough to handle any dust ammo, but we'd have to line the barrel and stuff with the right coating to make sure it didn't break down. Dust ammo can be pretty rough on guns, just because a tiny bit will always start acting up once you pull the trigger. That shouldn't be too hard, but it might take a while." She tapped her finger against her chin. "I hope you haven't been shooting this very much, since it wouldn't last long with even the basic dust rounds. I don't even know why this was made like this, since dust would just wear it out."

Yeah, dust would, but gunpowder wouldn't.

"Yup, we should get you the right coating before anything else, so you can at least fire. But, first I want to see what your bullets look like." She scooted over and picked up on of the few bullets he had left, which he'd let lay on the table while they worked. "Hmm, .44 right?"

"You can tell just from looking at them?"

Not bad.

"No, I could tell just from looking at the gun."

Not bad at all.

"Really?"

"Yup," she said with a smile, "I knew right when I first saw it. I know all about this stuff."

"That you do."

Ruby took the bullet in her hand and scrutinized it, bringing it close in front of her and squinting her eyes. She looked at it from one angle then another, getting a thorough examination. Then she rolled it between her fingers, feeling all the little details. She even brought it up to her nose and sniffed it. Alright, that was a little strange—wait, did she just lick it?

"This is weird." Her declaration came with a quizzical look directed first at the bullet, then at him. "It doesn't have any dust in it, and it's shaped different."

Shit.

"No, no they have dust. It's just a different design, is all."

Ruby looked back at the bullet and brought them up in front of her once more. "Yeah, they've got to have dust. How else would it fire, right?"

"Right."

"It's still a weird design, though."

"It is."

"I think we should just stick the normal one."

"We should."

She tilted her head and looked at him. "You don't really say a lot, do you?"

"No."

She turned away. Was it just him, or did her posture seem a little more guarded?

"Well, we should just apply the coating for now."

She handed his Magnum and the bullets back to him then stood up. She plodded over to another workstation, and he followed. She quickly got to work pulling out a set of tools he'd never seen before, but thankfully, they weren't totally unlike the one's he was used to. He was a swift learner, so after just a little while of Ruby showing him the ropes, he ought to be able to get a hang of things.

She began to work and he watched, having already admitted his ignorance towards commonly utilized equipment. He'd simply said that he wasn't used to having proper tools, that he'd long lived in the field. For once, he wasn't lying at all.

Ruby got to work, but things quickly teetered on the edge of discomfort. There was a silence between the two of them. It wasn't the same sort that had existed between him and Ozpin, however. There was a definite sense of unease that was strung between them and only became more taught with time. It largely emanated from Ruby, and he wasn't exactly sure why he felt that way until he really thought about it.

There was something furtive about her manner, something uncomfortable and reserved. There was definitely some kind of tension that radiated from her, like heat from a smoldering coal. The way she averted her eyes, the way she hunched over, the way she hushed up and didn't say much, whereas she'd normally be chatting away. Sure, she was working, but there were tell-tale signs of distraction, like the way she kept looking around, turning away or fidgeting with the tools. Was there still something bothering her?

Was it him?

No, it couldn't be him.

"Jaune, why do you want to hang out with me?"

Or maybe it was. Damn.

"Well, you mentioned weapons, and I want to work on my weapons." He shrugged. That was the truth, she could take it as she would.

"Well, why me in particular? Everyone here knows about guns and stuff."

"You were the first person I talked to who mentioned it. Why anyone else?" Why was she asking about this? This wasn't important. Bites of frustration began to scrape at his insides. Could they just get back to work? As it was, Ruby had completely given up on focusing on the Magnum, idly tapping the tools together as she thought. She chewed on her lip nervously.

"It's just that... I'm just a little kid, right?"

"Totally wrong."

"Huh?" Her face, even her whole body, twisted into an expression of confusion.

He shrugged again. That was the truth, she could take it as she would. He wasn't saying anything that wasn't obvious, at least to him. Her quizzical appearance, however, beckoned further explanation. He sighed once more and gave one. Hopefully this could get her back on task.

"You're an expert with weapons, little kids can't do that. You cut off the head of a gigantic flying monster back during initiation. Yes, I saw that," he added before she could ask. "It was impressive, and it wasn't something a little kid could do. I've seen little kids, I've worked with them, and you're not one. Ditzy? Kid-like? Definitely.

"But you're not a child. A child couldn't get into one of the best school on the planet. You're dangerous, and kids aren't dangerous at all. Heck, didn't you get in here early? There are plenty of people older than you who didn't get in at all."

There were other things as well: for example, just looking at her body made it clear that she'd been through puberty. She possessed certain... physical aspects, that a child wouldn't have. He didn't voice that opinion. He may not have been the most eloquent of people, but he wasn't stupid, either.

Still, her danger and capability was what most set her out from kids in his eyes. That was just how he viewed and ranked people, according to the danger they presented. That was the reason why he was always glancing at her and always kept his hands in front of him, just in case he needed to counter an attack. The likelihood of her doing that seemed miniscule, but he made no exceptions for his caution.

Never.

Ruby was sitting up straight now. A tentative smile graced her face as she looked up at him. "Really, you honestly mean that? Even though I like comics and video games and stuff?"

"I like those too, doesn't mean I'm a kid."

She giggled. "No, you definitely aren't..." She trailed off, before returning with something wholly unexpected. "Thanks Jaune, I really needed to hear that."

He raised his brow, but that was the only indication of his confusion that he gave. "Why would I need to say that, it's obvious. To me, you're about as mature as everyone else here." That wasn't saying much. Everyone here was green; none of them had seen the things that he'd seen. If any of the other students tried to tell him that they were adults, he'd laugh in their face. Still, there was an interim between childhood and adulthood, and Ruby lay there with the rest.

"You're not a child," he repeated.

Ruby didn't answer; her smile just widened.

He felt an odd sensation in his face, around his lips. It beckoned him to mimic her own expression. Alright, this had gone on long enough. Really, they should just get back to work—

"Hey, can I ask you about something else?"

God Damn it. Why couldn't she shut up? Shut up and get back to work already so he could wipe that weird feeling off his face. Ugh, he couldn't exactly strong-arm her into doing this for him, could he? No, not at all. He'd have to be diplomatic about this, court her friendship in order to access her abilities, so he'd have to force down the frustration. That annoyed him.

He really, really didn't want to tolerate her anymore.

"Sure," he said. "Shoot."

Ruby opened her mouth to say something, before closing it. She opened her mouth again, then closed it again. She did that a few more times, doing an excellent impression of a fish out of water as she struggled to say something. A noticeable timidity latched onto her movements now. Her previous confidence dissipated as this new topic came up. Whatever it was obviously bothered her.

Eventually, she stopped doing her fish impression and cutely poked her fingers together as she thought. For the love of God, could she just get on with it? Get on with it then shut up? He _needed_ her to shut up already.

Eventually, with a deep breath, she forced it out. "I think that Ozpin made a mistake in making me the team leader."

What?

"I mean, my team's a mess already. Blake is quiet, but that's fine. It's Weiss and Yang." She let out an exasperated sigh. "See, Yang's my sister—"

"What? She is?"

"Yeah, we're half-sisters technically, but whatever. She's my older sister, so she doesn't respect me at all. She just thinks that she can still boss me around like she used to." Ruby threw her hands up into the air, as her frustration was let loose. "And then there's Weiss! She's all high-and-mighty rich girl who thinks she'd be a better leader than me and she's the one who first called me a little kid and Yang obviously thinks the same if she keeps bossing me around and everything's a mess and maybe Weiss is right and I should have stayed back at Signal and I'm too young and, and, and Ijustdidn'tthinkthatthiswashowBeaconwouldgo!"

She slumped over the table, forehead resting against the workbench. Certainly, the way that that screwdriver poked her face must've been uncomfortable, but she didn't notice. She took in great breaths of air, trying to account for everything she'd just lost in her little tirade, which was honestly pretty unexpected.

The Lone Wanderer had no idea what to say. Then again, maybe it was best to just say nothing. Perhaps just giving her an outlet would be enough?

She peeked up at him. "What do you think I should do?"

Or not.

"I mean, you're a leader too."

He scowled at that.

"Oh, uh, sorry." She shied away. "If you don't want to deal with my stuff, that's fine. I shouldn't have brought it up..."

He felt something turn in his gut. Certainly, it must have been his instinctual reaction to possibly losing his opportunity to have someone help with his weapons, or another manifestation of his frustration. Certainly.

Breath deep. Hold. Release.

"No, you can talk. I'm just not sure what I should say."

Ruby sprung up in her seat and twisted around to look at him. A vibrancy had returned to her face, shining through a soft smile and softer eyes. The feeling in his gut settled. Certainly, it was his fear at not being able to upgrade his weapons that was now assuaged. Certainly.

"Can you, just, I dunno, give me some advice or something?" Ruby asked.

Leadership advice? That couldn't be too hard. Actually, he already had some in mind. "Well a friend of mine gave me some advice after I became a leader for my own team." He sighed, almost wistfully. After a second, he shook his head, clearing his mind of nostalgia and continuing. "She told me that leadership is all about care and respect."

"Care and respect?" Ruby echoed.

"Yeah. And you need to show it through your actions. Show that you care and respect them. Show that you're worth being cared for and respected yourself." Now shut up already! God, why don't people here shut up!

"But how do I do that?"

God damn it! Fucking shut up! Please! Please... dear God... just please be quiet...

She clasped her hands together, practically pleading. "Weiss doesn't care _or_ respect me. Yang cares for me, but I don't think she'll respect me as team leader. I have no idea what Blake is thinking!"

The desperation in her voice pushed down the frustration under his skin, enabling him to continue past the seething unease that roiled in his muscles and his blood and his bones.

"Just... do what you need to do. Put in the work. Lead from the front. Like back at initiation, when you killed the nevermore. Keep doing that, keep proving yourself. In every way you can." He leaned back and stared up, looking for answers in the ceiling, the way that lost people sometimes do, looking for some solution to the boiling feeling within him. It'd be so much easier if she'd shut up! At least the ceiling was silent, at least it wouldn't look at him with pleading eyes. As he looked at it, he actually found it easier to continue.

"Fighting, for starters. That's the best way to build a close relationship, depend on each other for your lives. Extreme, but it works." He sighed and looked deeper into the ceiling. His exasperation dissipated as he focused less and less on what was around him and more and more on the ceiling, on the memories he was invoking.

"But there's a lot of other stuff, too. Do research on where you'll be going and what you'll be doing. Plan things out. Keep track of your supplies. Look over their health. Make sure they're getting enough to eat. But don't be pushy, don't think they're made of glass or that they're stupid, because that's just demeaning. "

The brutal sensations in his body faded away as he gazed deeper into the ceiling, drawing on that bizzarre wisdom that only ceilings could possess. A strange calm settled as his own words wrapped around him. He began to descend into places long left behind. His words took on a hollow quality.

"The biggest thing is working. Just work hard and make sure they know it. Sacrifice your time and even your health for them. Even if you're not the best, people can always appreciate you if you're giving it you're all." The ceiling was flat and silent, yet it drew him deeper in, immersing him in old memories.

He remembered parceling out water for the others. He'd stay up late at night on the first watch, always the first for him, no matter how tiring the day had been before. Whenever John or Jane let one of their spats get a out of hand, he'd put them back in line. He'd stand up for Fawkes whenever someone sneered at the supermutant. He always kept track of their funds and their supplies. He'd be the one to go to markets and barter for what they needed. He'd always represent them at meetings. When things in a fight were bad, he'd rush up to the front, he'd cover for the others, he'd be the first to give stimpaks and the last to take them.

He sighed. "You've got to keep your head above water; 'cause even if you're drowning, you've got to be a lifeguard for all the people who depend on you." He sighed again. "That's what I was told after I started leading my team... a bit less than a year ago."

"Huh? But we were just assigned teams yesterday."

Ruby's voice snapped him out of the trance he'd unwittingly entered. His gaze cut from the ceiling to her in an instant, and his posture tensed once more. Damn it! He'd gotten lost. The unpleasant miasma of feeling returned, washing over him like a wave that was painfully cold.

"I used to have an old team before I came here. It doesn't matter. We should end this now."

"What?"

The Lone Wanderer rigidly bolted up, grabbing his equipment as did so. "We're done now." His breathing came and went quickly, as if he'd just been chased. A heavy feeling coalesced in his chest. His hands were slightly shaking.

"What do you mean? Why?" Ruby's face was tinged with a shade of panic. "Are you alright?"

Breath deep. Hold. Release.

He needed her to work with him. He still needed this, these armory sessions. He needed to be calm. He didn't want her to feel bad. Needed. He _needed_ her to not feel bad. Not want. Just needed. He also needed to get away from her, quickly. He couldn't keep talking.

"I'm just a little sick. And you have to go because..." Come on, find a good excuse. "You have to get to your team, right? You need to start being a leader right away." Come on, buy it, buy it, buy it...

Her face lit up, panic gone. "You're right! You're super right, I need to get going right now! It's still the first day, I've got to be a good leader from the very start, right?"

"Right."

"Do you really think I can do it?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

"That I can be leader? You really think I can be a leader?"

He took a step back and looked at her. She was young, certainly. That didn't matter though. She was obviously capable of many things, from fighting to engineering. She also expressed an almost casual compassion for others. She'd latch onto and look after people, and she'd have all the skill and determination needed to care for them.

Unlike him.

"Of course you can." It was obvious, wasn't it? Now could she shut the fuck up already!? Could she just fucking leave!? Please!

He was practically begging, not that she could see.

Ruby squealed and smiled, then scrambled to the table to hastily put the tools away. "Thanks Jaune, really!" She stuffed the last of the hardware back to their places. Once that was done, she turned on the dime to smile brightly at him. "Thank you. I really, really needed that. Sorry you're sick and sorry we didn't get to work too much, but we'll get back to this later, right?"

"Right."

Her smiled widened. "Well, see yah! Hope you start feeling better!" She launched off, rocketing through the armory and out the door, rose petals left twirling through the air behind her.

Hope you start feeling better...

He reached out and grabbed the nearest petal before it could float down to the floor. He glanced at the entrance, where she'd just departed. Her strong smile still glowed in his vision. He looked back down at the rose petal. It was delicate, beautiful.

He scowled and crushed it in his hand.

* * *

Yang Xiao Long stretched out in her bed. She'd been laying there, intermittently looking at her scroll and dozing for the last few hours, ever since Ruby had left. Concerned boiled within her gut the entire time, keeping her from sleep. She'd wanted to charge down to that armory and show Ruby a piece of her mind, show Jaune too.

But she'd stopped herself.

Ruby was right, and Yang had been right too. They both knew that she needed to make some new friends. They just disagreed on how she should go about that.

Alright, maybe she was being a little too over-protective, maybe he _had_ had a bad day before. Who knew? He definitely _was_ pretty sketchy, though. At least to her. So she'd question Ruby on everything that had gone down, just to make sure that the guy wasn't a creep or something. He'd never looked at Ruby lecherously; Hell, he'd been too busy looking at Weiss like that. So maybe that wasn't quite his intent, but what was?

Ugh, and here she went thinking about the guy again. Whenever he thought about him, she thought about Ruby too, of course. And when she thought about Ruby, her mind drifted back to their recent fight, to the various stages of hurt and anger that her little sister had worn.

It made her frown.

Maybe she _was_ just messing with her sister's social life by being a little crazy. Just a little. To her defense, a little insanity was justified when it came to Jaune Arc! That guy was all sorts of shady.

She sighed and covered her eyes. She'd left Ruby back at the beginning of school to do precisely this: make friends. Now she'd just have to leave her alone again, hoping that Ruby was as mature as she claimed. And if she got hurt? Well, she'd learn a lesson.

Her eyes flashed red.

And Jaune would too.

She growled and sat up in her sheets. It was already dark outside. If it got any later, she'd march down to the armory herself just to make sure nothing had gone wrong—

The door slammed open. "I'm back!" Ruby yelled as she hurtled in. She quickly needed to stop herself, lest she trip and send everything in her arms flying. And boy was she carrying a lot. "I've done a bunch of stuff," she said as she marched over to her desk, setting down the massive pile of books and folders she'd brought. She immediately started to rifle through them and sort out the paper anarchy.

"I did all the research on our classes. I printed out the schedules and study guides, plus tips made out by older Beacon students. I've got a bunch of stuff for myself to study (since, you know, I was brought in early). I looked into every club in the school, so if you're interested in anything, come talk to me. I've got all the schedules for all the teachers' office hours too"

She waved the various papers around in the air as she came across them, sporadically flapping them about. "Everything on all the extra help that Beacon gives, like counseling and nutrition and exercise and stuff. I've even got a chart that shows the best deals for students out in Vale! Oh, and there's—"

"What exactly is all of this?"

Ruby was silent. Yang and Blake were too. This might not go down so well.

It was Weiss who had asked, stopping her energetic partner from continuing to talk her head off. She'd just returned, door still ajar and creaking to a close behind her.

Ruby stopped rifling through her files and faced the girl. She gripped her hands together nervously, but the timidity didn't stop her from speaking. "This," she said, gesturing to the papers, "Is me being a leader."

The door clicked shut behind Weiss, and a pregnant pause persisted afterwards.

The heiress's heels clicked against the floor as she walked to Ruby's desk and examined the compiled papers. She looked over it all for a few long seconds, before a slight smile broke on her face and she turned back to Ruby. "It'd take a while for you to get through this all on your own. Would you like some help?"

Ruby's eyes shone. "Yes! Yes, come here!" Ruby zipped across the room and pulled up another chair for Weiss, and the two girls sat down side by side.

"Hmm, this'll still take a little while, even with the both of us. Ruby, how do you take your coffee?"

Yang observed the situation, eyes wide. Ruby had stepped up. In a big way, too. That was a lot of work she'd just done, and it entailed even more effort in the future. Yang had been ready to pounce on her sister the moment she came in and interrogate her, but now she forced herself to sit back and let the two girls chat and pour over Ruby's collected notes. She smiled as she closed her eyes for a moment. Maybe her little sister had grown up after all.

"Hey Yang?" Her eyes popped back open. Ruby stood above, nervously fidgeting. "I'm... I'm sorry about earlier. I shouldn't have yelled like that." Her eyes were shiny, filled with the innocent desire to be forgiven.

"It's alright, sis. I think I said some wrong things too." She shot Ruby a legitimate smile that bellied her little sister's concern. "Now get back to work and let me have my beauty sleep!" Her tone was joking, but the command was still serious nonetheless. Ruby smiled and nodded, plodding away to rejoin her partner.

A thought hit Yang as she rested her head back on the pillow. It probably wasn't a coincidence that her sister had left in low spirits and returned like this after spending time with Jaune. She looked over and saw Ruby chatting happily with Weiss, yet still focused on going through her accumulated documents. She'd have to ask Ruby later how the armory went, though she suspected she'd say it went well.

Maybe that guy wasn't so bad after all.

* * *

When the Lone Wanderer entered his room, it was late. He walked over to his desk and dropped a set of pamphlets and papers to be studied later. They all carried information of Beacon's exercise and nutrition programs for the students, as well as job opportunities. He'd look through them more later.

The lights were off, and the people he was forced to share a room with where all in their beds, though still awake, either on their scrolls or with small lights illuminating their books.

No one spoke to him; he spoke to no one.

He climbed into his own bed, slipping the Mysterious Magnum under the pillow as he adjusted the blankets. He pressed his back up against the wall and kept the covers loosely draped over him, so that he'd be able to react quickly.

He watched over those people for a while, well after they'd turned off their lights and settled into sleep. Only then was he able to drift off. As he did, he idly hoped that tonight wouldn't be as bad as the last.

He hoped in vain.

* * *

 **Well would you look at that? Instead of ripping teams apart, the Wanderer has progressed to helping them get back together, even if just inadvertently.**

 **Anyhow, now we get so see one of my promised butterfly effects. Qrow's recommendation of Jaune creates an interest for him that Ozpin didn't possess in canon, thus he decides to speak to him instead of Ruby. In canon, Weiss talked with Port and Ruby talked with Ozpin, and their mutual talks managed to inspire them toward reconciliation. Weiss still got her talk with Port here, but Ruby got passed by. As such, it fell upon Jaune to unwittingly give her the motivation she needed, even if he wanted to do literally anything else. And why was he so freaked out during their exchange? Well, think on it a little. I believe that plenty has been revealed about him thus far to allude to why he's gotten so uncomfortable this chapter.**

 **Alright, expect the next chapter around this time next weekend. I know I say this every time, but any and reviews and/or questions are appreciated and encouraged! Seriously, shoot me a PM if you're curious about something, I love talking about this with you types.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Alright, here we are, hope you enjoy!**

* * *

It appeared that Professor Oobleck's class would actually be substantive. The exact opposite of Ports, an incredible amount of information was crammed into an incredibly short amount of time, with not a moment's break afforded. It all fascinated the Lone Wanderer, come from a different world. This place was so different in so many ways, so digging into its history and culture could be a great experience.

Now if only he was able to keep his eyes open.

He couldn't remember it, the nightmare that had kept him awake the night before. He didn't remember all of them, but he knew that he had one when he woke with a strange stiffness diffused throughout his muscles. Or more obviously, more painfully, he'd wake up with a full-blown panic attack as he had just the other night. As it was, a lingering sense of unease infected him, even though he had no idea what exactly had caused that.

However, he was certain that, in some way, shape or form, it involved Bishop Beauvais. It always did.

Whatever the content, it'd robbed him of the restful sleep he'd been hoping for. The last few days had been exhausting in ways he hadn't had to face in a long time. In the past, he'd been forced to run for hours, to stay awake for days, to go with next-to-no food or water for upwards of a week

He hadn't been forced to talk this much in a long time.

His eyes drifted open again, but instead of trying to focus on the lecture, his gaze drifted to Ruby Rose, the greatest talker he'd yet faced. She seemed to have taken his advice to heart, as she was diligently scrabbling in her notebook, trying desperately to keep up with the Professor's ridiculous pace and actually managing it with some fair success. Maybe it was because of her semblance? Who knew, certainly not him.

All he knew was that he hated her. He hated her for that awful time at the armory the night before. She'd... she'd just kept talking. She'd kept talking, and then she'd started smiling, and then she'd gotten back to exuding her innate innocence. It had felt like ants were crawling around under his skin, scratching his flesh with their tiny legs and jaws. He'd needed to leave, so leave he did. He hated her. He absolutely hated her. He truly, powerfully, passionately despised her.

He knew that to be fact, for it's what he kept telling himself.

He hated everyone else, too. They kept making him talk. They made him talk and they made him remember.

He continued glaring at Ruby. Her brow was furrowed as she tried to keep up with her notes, a look of determination matched only by her partner, sat beside her. The two girls furiously scribbled and even exchanged a few words as they kept up. Blake did something similar, though in an independent, fluid manner distinct from her team. Yang, meanwhile, was putting all her effort into keeping her forehead off of the table.

Well, at least he wasn't alone.

Yang Xiao-Long. Sister to Ruby Rose. That was weird. It also explained a few things. For example, why she'd gotten up in the middle of the night to come over and say hi to him. Maybe she and Ruby had just been talking about him, and she decided that then was as good a time as ever to introduce herself to her sister's new friend. He started gnawing on the inside of his cheek. Maybe she'd just been trying to be friendly, when he'd savagely rebuffed her.

He shook his head. Whatever the reason, it was her fault. Everything about their interaction was firmly her fault, and he couldn't be assigned an ounce of blame for how he'd acted. Certainly not. Something uncomfortable turned in his stomach. No! No, he wasn't to blame. Besides, there were still a whole host of other possible motives. She could still have been planning something nefarious. Even if her intentions were honest, it would be pointless for everyone to try and befriend him. He'd be leaving as soon as he could. He'd get his weapons and training sorted out, then he'd leave one night and never come back.

He needed to leave quickly. This place was already beginning to wear him out in a way that he hadn't expected. If he continued on this pace, then he'd have to consistently talk to more people than he had in months. He hated all of them. Ruby most of all.

She just... she made him feel bad. He didn't know why. She made him feel empty. Emptier than usual.

He clenched his teeth and gripped his pen with a strange fury. Just get back to the lesson. Try and get back to the lesson. Ignore all of them. Once things get into full swing here, then it'd be easier to avoid them if only because he'd naturally be busier. He could immerse himself in his studies and additional training. It was important distance oneself both physically and mentally. Being busy would keep away the thoughts of these people. It always kept away other thoughts, too. These bastard pieces of shit here all kept talking about teams, about their friends, about leadership.

He wanted none of it.

He focused on Oobleck's manic speech, instead. For a while, at least. His eyelids were heavy from a form of exhaustion that he hadn't had to stomach for a long time. He hadn't had a casual conversation with anyone in months—months!

The Lone Wanderer was known for his silence. He'd swoop in, kill what needed to be killed, then collect whatever reward was offered. Rinse. Lather. Repeat. He got a vicious rush from fighting and killing and surviving that couldn't be replicated, especially not by note-taking. It wasn't that he enjoyed the rush, so much as he enjoyed the distraction it afforded. Living like he had back in the wasteland was exhaustive, always worrying about food, water, shelter, ammo, medicine and enemies.

It was an anti-peace that was peaceful unto itself, driving away existential thought. His lack of constant exhaustion was a form of exhaustion on its own.

He was too tired to continue keeping up with the teacher, a pointless endeavor. What little he actually managed to transcribe simply went from the teacher's words to the ink on the paper, passing straight through him as a middle man, without him retaining any actual knowledge. Maybe he could gleam something from the notes later, but they were already somewhat haphazard and unintelligible. Screw it, just stop taking notes and listen for a bit.

Professor Oobleck had decided to start off his history lessons with a lecture on the conclusion of the Great War, a title which he honestly found amusing, given it paled in comparison to the Great War of Earth. Nevertheless, Oobleck had declared it a good starting point for huntsman and huntresses, who were supposed to be Remnant's peacekeepers, since it was the Vytal Treaty that ended the war which formally mandated each kingdom to set up their own national battle schools.

By this point in the lecture, however, he'd progressed from just talking about the role of huntsman and huntresses, to other, more general parts of the treaty. Oobleck currently talked about the various rules of war set forth by the treaty, designed to limit the destructiveness and cruelty caused by conflict. Rules for war, what a funny concept. The Lone Wanderer started marking tallies in his notebook, counting all the ones he'd broken, as Oobleck shouted them out.

"Don't execute prisoners!

Heh, done that too many times to count.

"Don't deprive prisoners of food, water or medicinal supplies!"

Hey, grass and spit made for a decent dinner. And the tried-and-true method of just 'toughing out' fatal injuries always seemed to work, at least up until the moment of death.

"Don't subject prisoners to unhealthy living conditions!"

Did tying people up and leaving them to rot in radioactive sludge count as unhealthy? Probably.

"Don't punish prisoners without a fair trial!"

He did an excellent job as judge, jury and executioner, thank you very much.

"No cruel or unusual punishment!"

Cruel _and_ unusual was the standard for wasteland justice.

"Don't use chemical weapons!"

Hey, there's nothing wrong with a little sarin gas... or a lot of sarin gas.

"Don't use torture!"

Oh please, now you're just being pedantic.

"Anyone who would ever even _consider_ committing such heinous acts as these is a despicable, immoral person!"

Whoops.

The Lone Wanderer yawned and looked down at the tally in his notebook. Thirteen. That was good for at least a few life times in prison. Should he feel proud? Well, he felt as proud as he did guilty: not at all. There was no room for such petty things as war crimes in the brutal Hellscape that was the Capitol Wasteland. Sure, there'd been a time where he would never have considered doing the things he did now, but times change.

He sighed and let his head fall down, crossing his arms to use as a pillow. Screw this. He didn't want to be lectured about how awful a person he was, even if that wasn't the lesson's intent. He wanted to go to sleep, but the presence of people all around him prevented that. He sat in the back corner of the class, as usual, with no one around, but that didn't mean others couldn't sneak up. He couldn't risk sleep.

God decided to answer his prayers, however, and the bell rung.

He immediately gathered his things and dashed from the room. Eyes flicking about constantly, back turned towards the wall, he left quickly left the others behind on his way to his dorm. It was lunch time, so the others would all be going to the cafeteria instead of their dorm. He'd skip lunch for a chance at rest.

He opened the door and immediately slammed it behind him. He flopped on his bed with a groan. A short nap, that was all he needed. Just a little nap to rejuvenate himself. His team wouldn't be coming by and class didn't start again for another hour, so he could set a short alarm and close his eyes for maybe twenty minutes or so. Then he could quickly grab some fruit or something from the cafeteria on his way to combat class.

He closed his eyes. Just a short rest... hopefully short enough to spare him from any nightmares...

* * *

A shrill shriek erupted from speakers alongside bright red lights, flashing violently. The two together constituted Raven Rock's emergency alarm, now flooding every room and hallway in the complex, alerting them all that an escaped prisoner was on the loose.

He really should have gotten moving. It was only through Eden's timely intervention in locking certain doors that had kept the troops at bay, but that wouldn't last. Their plasma weapons and strong power armor would get them through soon enough, and he'd be done.

As it was, he stood in a lab, unmoving. Any thought of escaping had been crushed. His mind was on murder.

"You... you bitch!" The rage and volume in his voice easily outmatched the banshee-scream of the alarms. He raised the Enclave plasma rifle at her. "My dad died back there; _he_ killed him! Now you're working with them! With _him!_ "

The woman held up her hands. "Please, young man, you have to understand... I loved your father very much, Li as well, all of them! B-but the Enclave have such incredible technology here... I never dreamed I'd have the chance to work with this." The look in her eyes was pleading, afraid. "You have to understand..."

She'd worked with them at Project Purity. She was one of Dad's trusted friends, a fellow scientist, a fellow humanitarian working for the good of the wasteland. Now, after Bishop had attacked them, she'd turned in the blink of an eye and started working with the people who'd killed his father.

His grip tightened around the plasma rifle. She was a traitor. These people, that _bastard_ , had killed his dad, and she turned for them the second she saw their shiny equipment? His vision was blurry, filled with unceasing scarlet, and he wasn't sure if that was because of the alarms or his own fury bleeding over into his sight. Tears stung the edge of his eyes as images of his father's brains being liquified by a point-blank plasma shot forced themselves into his mind like daggers driven deep. His hands shook. His blood was gasoline that had been set ablaze.

She was unarmed. She was no threat. She was begging for her life.

He pulled the trigger.

Suddenly, an incredible darkness engulfed him. There was no more screeching. No more red lights. Nothing, except for a terrible smile that pierced through the darkness.

Once more, he was trapped and paralyzed in the dark room.

"Well, well, well, that was brutal. I wonder what your father would think, what your friends would think, if they'd ever known you did that." A gentle chuckle floated from some unseen source in the dark, an echo that reverberated all around him; it mixed with the blackness, mixed with the terrible sensation of his kindly smile, to create a sickening miasma that pressed close against him, strangely warm and strangely cold. "The regulators might have had your finger for that, you know? Your honorary knighthood would have been revoked. Neither group was ever partial to civilian execution.

"Funny, even back then, you could get an inkling of what you'd become, even before the Battle at Adams Air Force Base, the Lone Wanderer was manifesting." A cool breeze washed over him, goosebumps creeping all over his skin, accompanied by the sound of a great exhalation. "But this was nothing compared to what you would one day become, isn't it?"

It wasn't.

"You succumbed completely to the wasteland's savagery, falling prey to that viral depravity of the soul that infected our world after the bombs fell. You're filth. You're a savage. You're disgusting. No one will ever love you, the _real_ you, because the real you is a despicable monster."

The sound of silence drifted throughout the dark room. It felt like something was suffocating him, even as something also separated from him and pulled away, leaving him naked and cold and hardly able to breathe.

"That was just the beginning, you morally deprived subhuman, you worthless excuse for a person. You got worse and worse and worse because you're weak and pathetic. Let's see just how bad you got, shall we?"

A sickeningly sharp snap struck through the dark room, and everything changed.

"No, no, no!"

It was a terrible scene. A massacre had taken place just a moment before, with several mutilated bodies lying on the ground, blood still dark and runny, slowly seeping across the dusty ground. Only one man stood. Another man kneeled.

"Please, I swear, I'll be good!"

These raiders had attacked a nearby homestead while their militia was away. They'd killed women and children and struck off with the loot. As the grief-stricken militia tended to the wounded, he'd followed them.

The ripper sword roared to life.

"No, no, no!"

Crocea Mors came down, slowly, so that the man could know fear before he died.

The screaming was shrill and brief as the Lone Wanderer sawed into his skull.

A snap rang and the scene changed again.

The Lone Wanderer had just finished setting up a roaring fire. He was in the middle of Canterbury Commons. The strong flames pushed back the nightly chill. Several of the many traders had come by to warm up and gain a reprieve from the cold that fell upon the ruined old village. He hadn't made the fire for them, or even for himself. No one knew who he'd made it for—yet.

As he walked away, one of Canterbury's guards approached him. "Thanks again for taking care of those raiders, they'd been doing a number on us for a while," the guard said.

The Wanderer didn't even look at the man as he marched towards the tied-up prisoner he'd dragged back. She was covered in cuts and bruises from the various residents of Canterbury letting out a little steam.

"Yeah, we'll hold a vote tomorrow to see what to do with her. She'll probably be forced into indentured servitude. Finally, she'll be able to contribute to society for once, eh?"

The Wanderer grabbed the prisoner by her neck and hauled her up. She choked and spluttered as he hauled her back towards the fire.

He'd never planned on letting them vote.

He'd always planned on sending his own message.

The fire had further swelled now, snapping and hissing cruelly like a wild animal.

With a single shove, he propped the raider up and threw her into the flames. Those nearby shouted and rushed away. Most covered their ears at the sound of her muffled screams and crackling skin.

In the wasteland, there was a certain line, a threshold of savagery that people didn't cross, even for raiders. Forced into indentured servitude? Executed? Perfectly acceptable, depending on the severity of the crime.

Publicly burning someone alive?

The traders of Canterbury Commons would trek out across the wasteland after that night, telling the story of the Lone Wanderer's brutality, how he stood and watched silently as the burning woman screamed and screamed.

A brutal snap cut through the scene, changing it once more.

The Wanderer had killed off the water bandits, just as the Brotherhood had asked him too. Even better than that, he'd captured their leader: Split Jack. He hadn't informed the Brotherhood of his prisoner, knowing they'd immediately take him away and enforce their own judgement, which would be something far too tame.

The Lone Wanderer was a man with a message. A message for the entire wasteland; the wasteland, which had taken everything from him.

A sizeable town stood outside of Jefferson Memorial now, built there for immediate access to the water and trade with all the caravans that passed through, a distinct suburb of Rivet City protected by the Brotherhood and Rivet Security alike. There, he could rent out a few brahmin, and he'd have a good audience.

He got four brahmin and tied each of Jack's limbs to a different one. When he was done, he undid his binding until he was held down only by the brahmin. Then he gave them the order to pull. When they stretched him all the way out, he ordered them to keep pulling. They did.

Until all of his limbs were ripped off.

The crowd was horrified; the Brotherhood, aghast.

The scene changed again.

He was outside of Fort Bannister. He'd rallied with the Brotherhood to finally strike at the Talon Company's main fortress, finally cutting out that cancer from the Wasteland. It had been a tough, yet winnable fight to defeat them and secure the surface of the base, but most of it was underground. It would be arduous and brutal, trying to dislodge the Talon mercenaries who would surely fight to the death rather than have to deal with the Brotherhood and face judgement for their crimes.

Or worse, face the Lone Wanderer's punishment. By then, everyone knew who he was.

The Lone Wanderer hadn't wanted any more knights and paladins being hurt than was necessary, so he told the Brotherhood he had an idea. They asked what it was and he refused to tell them, knowing full well they'd never stoop to such a low. Out of everyone, the Brotherhood under Lyons were the goody-two-shoes, the ones who wanted to be civilized, even though nonoe of their enemies would be.

The Brotherhood set up a siege as he departed for his safe house. Within, he'd kept several canisters he'd looted from an old US army base that he'd explored and reported to the Brotherhood, after taking some material for himself, of course. He'd known that these would eventually come in handy.

Then there he was, stooped over one of Fort Bannister's many vents that provided the underground base with necessary air. This was their first attempt at stepping up pressure on the besieged, trying to block the vents. There were far too many that were hidden, however. It'd been deemed a lost cause.

The Lone Wanderer now stood above one, which he'd ripped open. He cracked each canister open with a swipe of Crocea Mors and quickly threw them down. He had no reason to fear; the filtration helmet would keep him safe.

When he was finished, he sealed the vent once more to stop anything from leaking up. Then he went back to the Brotherhood base. He informed them that the siege was as good as won.

Of course, they were horrified to know that he'd won it with copious amounts of sarin gas, but war was war, after all. They even gave him the knife of the Talon Company's general. They'd then promptly told him to leave and never work with them again.

The scene cracked and changed again.

Sarah Lyons was debating with Sonora Cruz. The Brotherhood and the Regulators had always been at odds, but they'd all managed to come together to strike against Paradise Falls. They'd even worked with the Lone Wanderer. He'd been banned from ever entering the Citadel again after Fort Bannister, the latest in a succession of 'unacceptable acts'. No Brothers were even supposed to speak to him. The Regulators were ordered to keep their distance from him, too. Still, they'd been willing to take in his talent for such a major mission. Besides, his reputation was a weapon all on its own by that time.

When he first walked into the coalition's camp, people recognized him immediately. The ripper-sword, the filtration mask, the rough steel armor, a distinctive visage. They'd all given him his space. The civilian support workers even seemed a little afraid when he passed near.

It had been like that all the way up to the battle, which they'd won, of course. Slavers were nothing compared to power-armored knights and skilled, determined regulators.

They'd won, and the Lone Wanderer had left the two leaders behind so that they could bicker. Part of their argument involved what to do with all of the prisoners. Sarah wanted to force them into servitude. Sonora wanted to execute them. The Wanderer had something else in mind.

He took one of the looted flamers, then made his way to the building in which the prisoners were held. He opened the door. Inside was Eulogy Jones and all of his cronies. The Wanderer pulled the trigger.

They all burned and screamed.

There was another snap, and the dark room invaded the scene, forcing out everything colored or tangible until there was nothing but an all-encompassing blackness, with a single vague figure standing before him.

"You are disgusting, you know that?" He said, voice as soft and charismatic and nice as ever. "You're pathetic. You know how they say, 'if you can't beat them, join them?' Well, you joined them. You morally deprived scum." The hazy figure shook its head. "You're broken, you know that? Any normal person wouldn't do this. You're trash, and trash needs to be thrown away before it starts to rot."

The figure walked close, and the Lone Wanderer, as always, couldn't even move, couldn't even speak, couldn't do anything to stop him. He couldn't even run away.

"That's what you're doing right now: rotting. You should do the world a favor and throw yourself away." The figure leaned in. "You don't even feel bad, do you? You don't feel bad at all for everything you've done."

He didn't. The wasteland had been immeasurably cruel to him, so why shouldn't he repay it in kind?

"Well, do you feel bad about this?"

Bishop Beauvais snapped his fingers. Two more figures appeared. Despite the darkness, their visage was perfectly sharp and clear, shining with agonizing clarity. They were kids, both of them. No more than ten or twelve, certainly. One was a girl, with pretty blue eyes and blonde hair, skin radiating a youthful glow. The other was a boy, even younger, with dark brown hair and chocolate eyes that glimmered.

They stared at him.

* * *

The Lone Wanderer jolted awake. He sat bolt-upright in his bed and thrashed his arms about, warding away whatever heinous thing came close. His eyes were wild and wide and glanced about in a panic. His breath came in ragged gasps as his looked back and forth, back and forth. Wherever he looked, he was still able to see them. Those two. They kept looking at him. He could feel it, as if they were still there. He could _see_ them, even though there was no one else in the room with him. They were there.

His breath chugged light and quick, like fire from a machine gun. Sweat accrued on his skin, as if the room was baking at a million degrees. His throat was tight, feeling like someone had wrapped their hand around his neck and squeezed and squeezed and squeezed.

Breath deep. Hold. Release.

"Are you okay?"

His head snapped to the direction of Nora, standing in the bathroom doorway. For some reason, she'd come back to the room, but her original purpose was now abandoned. The sink still ran behind her. She'd forgotten to turn it off, instead coming off to check on him. Her mouth was slightly agape, as if she wanted to say something but was frozen by an inability to think of the right thing. Her eyes were wide and sparkling; her brow was furrowed. It was concern, framed on her face. Legitimate, good-natured concern that was born despite her hatred for him. Empathy. Empathy for the man who'd obviously woken up in a panic from something disturbing. Empathy for him.

He hadn't seen that kind of concern expressed for him in a long time. No one. No one ever cared for the Lone Wanderer. They looked at him cautiously, fearfully. They were never concerned. Now here it was, a sight for sore eyes.

It felt nice.

An immediate urge rose within him, something basic and natural and surprisingly desperate. An urge to say something, anything. He wanted to prompt some sort of conversation. He wanted to prolong that concerned expression. He wanted that care. He wanted something that would make the turmoil boiling inside his chest die down.

He shook his head and pushed out those treacherous demands, reminding himself of how much he hated her. He hated her with a passion, of course. He hated her because... because! She mentioned his team! She'd tried to talk to him! Yes... he hated her... absolutely... she was awful...

He didn't say a word as he collected his things and stormed past her, into the hallway. He'd need to find a way to make sure something like that didn't happen again. No one could be privy to his life.

* * *

Combat class would hopefully take the edge off of things. His nap should've revitalize him, but his muscles were more worn and his eyes were heavier. Still, he was now much less likely to fall asleep. Whenever his eyes closed for more than a few seconds, they snapped back open and erratically looked around.

He hadn't felt this terrible in a while, not in months. The idiots here kept talking and needling and bringing up things that really shouldn't be brought up. He hadn't thought about his team this much in a long, long time.

He shook his head. And he wouldn't keep thinking about them, either!

He trudged through the halls and into class. It was a stadium of sorts, with a sizeable arena for students to spar in while the rest of the class looked on. There was nothing flashy about it, just a room designed for fighting. Good, fighting was what he needed.

Things were too boring here, that was the problem. Things were safe, safe and calm. Normally, his life was filled with worry and paranoia. He'd be too busy thinking about food, water, enemies or shelter to think about anything else. Sometimes, he'd have gone so long with no water that his mouth felt like it was lined with sandpaper. Other times, he'd be so hungry, it felt like someone was driving a knife into his gut. Hard to get nostalgic when that was the life you lived.

He'd just need to do his best to recreate that here. He'd need to get busy, _very_ busy. That should be easy enough. Between hunting in the Emerald forest, working out and studying, he could fill up virtually every hour of his day with something to do. Perhaps it wouldn't be so harrowing (thus, not so effective) as the life or death situations he had to endure back in the wasteland, but it'd do. He could work himself to exhaustion during the day and fall asleep studying at night. That way, he wouldn't have a minute of free time. He also wouldn't have to spend time around other people, talking.

"Hey Jaune!" Ruby said with a wave and smile.

Speaking of talking...

"So, when do you want to go to the armory again?" she asked.

She was the exception, the one exception he'd have to endure.

"Not today."

But he wouldn't endure her right now. Even just being around her made his skin crawl, though he didn't know why. It was an intense sense of unease that coalesced in his stomach and grew there like a maggot, slowly expanding into some sort of noxious insect.

He hated her, he really did.

"Oh, alright. We can do it some other time, yeah?"

"Sure." He had the halfhearted desire to tell her to take a long walk on short pier, to find a nice ditch and throw herself into it, to just go and hop into a volcano—he just didn't want to deal with her again.

Strangely, he found himself unable to say any such thing.

Ruby smiled and hummed happily as she swung back to her team, a carefree spirit following her every movement. Somehow, someway, she managed to make every action she did seem carefree, fun. It reminded him of things he instantly pushed from his mind.

Ruby plopped down beside her partner. He made his way in the exact opposite direction of his own, sitting in the back corner as usual. He eyed his team warily as he stalked his way away from them. The three were sat together, happily chatting with one another. It seemed that his aloof behavior hadn't stopped them from becoming friends, forming their own team without him.

Good for them.

Nora actually spared him a few furtive glances. He looked away, unable to meet them.

Miss Goodwitch appeared and cracked her whip, rendering the class instantly silent and attentive.

"We will begin our sparring matches today, going on for every day of class moving forward. This will be a way to test your person-to-person sparring ability. You will be fighting Grimm with Professor Port, but with me, you will be fighting each other."

The only response she received were a few tell-tale ticks of nervousness, from awkward coughs to taps of nails against desks.

"As per tradition, we will be cycling through the entire class, having each pair of partners fight against one another."

The Lone Wanderer's eyes shot toward Pyrrha Nikos. Her eyes met his. Red and blue touched upon green, a harsh, cold force forming between the two. So that was how this would be, huh? Well then, he'd _really_ gotten unlucky when it came to getting a partner, hadn't he?

Pyrrha whipped her head around and turned her back to him, and he turned his attention back to Miss Goodwitch.

"This is to teach you one another's skills and provide a basis for your future sparring practice with each other, which you will be expected to do while training on your own time," Miss Goodwitch continued. "These fights, as well as every fight henceforth, will be done with tact and discipline. Fights will end when one combatant's aura descends into the red, no further. There will be nothing such as spitting, biting, cursing or attacks at the groin." She whipped her crop into her hand, sending a resounding crack throughout the entire room that made everyone jump in their seat. Well, everyone besides the Wanderer. "If you break any of these rules, then I will personally end the spar and levy a suitable punishment on the transgressor."

Her glare was so sharp, her voice so edged, that even the Wanderer winced at the thought of crossing her. Not that he'd been planning on doing anything like that in the first place. These were just spars, no point to get too intense. It was probably just meant to give these kids some experience fighting other people.

This was honestly what he was looking forward to the most. More than anything else, he wished to be adept at fighting others. He'd come to be excellent with Crocea Mors back in the wasteland, but the kind of melee fighting on Earth was radically different from the sort here on Remnant, all due to aura. That would be the most important thing, training for fighting against well-armed and trained combatants, using aura as he did so. That was all this class was for. He could shrug off adding his particular sort of viciousness for now, only needing it in real fights. Real fights, which he'd undoubtedly have plenty of once he got away and on the road.

"Now, let us begin." Miss Goodwitch called up a pair of students he's seen but wasn't familiar with. Despite this, the Lone Wanderer payed rapt attention to them. After all, one could learn a great deal just from watching.

The two young men smiled, shook hands, then stepped back. They seemed to have an amicable relationship already. Just the second day and the two of them were friends.

Good for them.

Both of them drew their weapons; one had a simple-seeming longsword and the other held a spiked mace with what looked like a gun barrel extending from one end. Of course. It was a breath of fresh air, seeing the other one's regular sword—

The student flicked a switch and the sword erupted into flame. It wasn't the first fire-sword the Wanderer had ever seen.

The Wanderer's lungs froze. Every muscle in his body tensed and shook. A sheen of sweat smattered all across his skin. His entire ribcage felt like it was being crushed inwards. An awful, terrible, disgusting, violating sensation spawned within his chest, right where his heart was supposed to be. He felt so brittle and fragile, like he could shatter at any moment.

The world before him winked out of existence, and a blur of things long left behind accosted him. A smile, a wickedly kind smile. A flaming sword, moving so fast it was just a cruel, orange haze. Each strike was incredibly, impossible strong. There were screams and shouts, people afraid and astounded. Impossible. It should have been impossible to do those things! No one can be that strong! No one! Get away from him, get away! All you can do is run!

A sword, long and curved and murderous, covered in rippling orange flame. It swung through the air, crackling and hissing and spitting as it bit and burned through flesh. Propelled by such an incredible strength, it easily smashed through bone and metal and whatever dared to stand in its way, scorching flesh as it went.

It flashed and blocked a super-sledge wielded by a supermutant. Had any other person done that, then their arms would've buckled and snapped. The man only smiled, flicking the fire-sword and striking out as those nearby screamed. Impossibly fast, impossible strong. Monstrous strength and speed only befitting of a monster.

The sword moved quickly, fluidly, masterfully through the air, with grace and skill rarely seen in the rest of the brutal wasteland. It was a total outlier. A strange weapon in and of itself, wielded by a man inhuman in more ways than one, possessing a deftness of ability rarely seen.

That sword, that flaming sword which struck fear in the Lone Wanderer like nothing else, which struck fear into the hearts and mind of every regulator and every knight and every paladin. It even made Elder Lyons afraid. It made everyone afraid, for it was a weapon of mass destruction when in the hands of Bishop Beauvais.

That sword had done many, many things in front of the Wanderer's eyes, and in that moment, he saw them all over again:

The sword flashed and hissed, stabbing into a joint of power armor and killing the Brotherhood knight inside.

The sword cut straight through a deathclaw's arm like It'd been made of butter, quickly flicking back and slicing its head open as well.

The sword sheared straight through a wall of concrete to cut into the regulator on the other end.

The sword annihilated the Wanderer's assault rifle with a single strike, leaving him helpless and ending the fight before it even began.

The sword rallied Enclave soldiers to fight on.

The sword skewered Maxwell Noble.

"Mr. Arc?"

The Lone Wanderer started and looked around. The classroom was empty besides himself and Miss Goodwitch, who had set her hand on his shoulder. She was also looking at him with that stern expression of hers, an expression now tinged with a hint of something else.

"Class is over, Mr. Arc, you're free to leave, as has everyone else."

Understanding slowly seeped back into him. The first thing he realized was that she was touching him, and he instantly shied away to once more be completely alone. His eyes flicked about erratically, noticing that they were indeed alone in the room.

"Class ended a few minutes ago, Mr. Arc. Is there are reason for you staying behind?"

He shook his head, more to clear his own mind than to answer her, though it served both purposes. He abruptly rose from his seat and collected his things, then tried to push past his teacher and towards the exit.

She stopped him with her words. "Mr. Arc, now that we have a moment, could you stay for a talk?"

Fuck! Fuck you! Fuck all of you! That's all he'd been doing since he got here, was talk and talk and talk and fucking talk! He hated it! He hadn't talked this much to other people in so long, and he hated every damn second of it!

Back in the wasteland, the Lone Wanderer was infamous for speaking little, if at all. Well, that was just one part of his greater infamy. Still, the silence which had long characterized him was an important part of his actions, his life, and now it had been ripped away.

Talking, too much Godforsaken talking. If it had been anyone else, literally anyone else in Beacon, he would've told her to go die in a hole. She was lucky for her position, which kept him from losing his temper.

"Sure," he said. His hands shook as he pulled them into tight fists.

"I just wanted to make sure you're alright. You were sitting there for several minutes after the bell rang, looking quite distant."

"I'm sleepy."

"Your eyes were perfectly open."

"Sleepy, not asleep."

She adjusted her glasses and tilted her head slightly to look at him. After a moment's observation, she settled back and sighed. "It would do you well to get a better hold of sleep, Mr. Arc. You're obviously exhausted."

It was obvious. His eyes were bloodshot and dark bags rested under them. His hair was also disheveled, adding to the scraggly look. Lines along his face were gaunt despite the fact that he'd been eating better than he had in a year.

"I just need a little time to settle." That much was true. He just needed to set up that schedule, needed to get back to working. There was too much free time for him to think.

"Well, see to it that exhaustion doesn't get the better of you," she said.

He waited for her to give some indication that he could leave, but she gave none.

"Mr. Arc, how is your time going with your team?"

God damn it, can people just shut up already? For the fucking love of God!

"It's fine."

"Is that so? You told me that you had some reservations when it came to getting onto a team."

He shrugged. "Well, I'm getting along."

"You didn't sit with them during class."

"I was just giving them some space. Now, can I get going?" He grit his teeth and stiffened his shoulders. Could she just shut up? Could everyone please just shut up? Could every just stop fucking talking about his team!?

"You seem quite agitated Mr. Arc."

"I'm just really tired; like you said, I need to get some sleep."

Miss Goodwitch tapped one finger against her crop. The sound of nail on the leather was light and near inaudible, but it was the only sound in the room.

The Lone Wanderer stood still and silent.

"You may go, Mr. Arc. It would serve you well to get some sleep, especially since I won't be as lenient the next time you nod off in class."

"Of course, Miss Goodwitch."

* * *

He'd been wading through the Emerald Forest for about half an hour now. The sun hung lower in the sky, which was beginning to drain into a dark shade of orange. Evening was on the horizon, advancing quickly.

A cigarette was jammed between his lips, lazily sending smoke into the air. One hand tightly gripped Crocea Mors, ready always to cut down whatever Grimm came near. A few did, but none lasted more than a few seconds. The monsters of this world were nothing, not if he had aura. Aura and a semblance...

He stopped and looked down at one hand. It really should manifest soon, right? People always got their semblances fairly early on in training, so surely his must be revealed soon as well? Perhaps he should've brought that up with Miss Goodwitch. She was a teacher, after all. If anyone would be able to help him find it, then she would.

He scowled. But the way she'd been talking to him... something about it was suspicious. There was something suspicious about everyone, naturally, since people cannot be trusted, but Goodwitch had seemed... disappointed, almost. He couldn't exactly tell what it was, but there was something. Something in her voice and her look.

Since she seemed to be the only combat teacher, then he may have to look around for someone else to tutor him. Damn, that could take more time than was necessary, and he already wanted to get out of this Hellish place.

He sneered.

Ugh, the people were bad for his health. It was like water on steel—they were slowly eroding him and destroying the quality of his person, making him rust. He needed to get away.

He looked down at one hand. Still, he'd have to get his semblance before then. He'd have to get his semblance and master it, or at least rise through the ranks of battle class. It was his semblance more than anything else that he wanted.

He kept staring at his hand. Maybe, maybe this time? He imagined a burst of flame forming, a perfect fireball that he could summon and throw, throw to vanquish his enemies!

Nothing happened.

Ugh, eventually, eventually he'd have his fire-hands. That was what he always imagined his superpower would be, growing up. Amata had claimed the ability to summon ice and freezing cold, so he'd gone for the compliment. The two of them would be partners against crime, fighting alongside the likes of the Silver Shroud and Grognak to save the world. They even had superhero names too. He was Flame-Man and she was Ice-Woman. They were very creative children.

He smiled at the memory. Amata had been a good friend.

 _Get out! Get out of my sight, you monster!_

The smile died.

He got back to the task at hand, which was scrutinizing the forest. He needed to find a place to sleep. This forest was filled with Grimm that would rip him to pieces if they could, but that was better than having to sleep with those people. Besides, the added danger would do him some good. It'd be just like back in the wasteland, when the uncertainty of death hung over him always. That uncertainty had always done a great job of keep him preoccupied.

That was happening right at that moment. He kept looking over his shoulders, kept on his guard, focused on staying alive. It was much, much easier to refocus like he just had when in a situation like this, as opposed to sitting around in class or in his room. He needed something to _do_.

Out here, the danger pressed on him in a familiar way. It was almost comfortable; at least, more comfortable than having to be around people. He just needed to get out of that room because it was too dangerous. They were skilled people who held a grudge against him, and it simply wasn't safe for him to stay with them. That was his reason.

He kept telling it to himself. Again and again, he made sure to tell himself that he was acting purely out of the rational caution for danger.

Eventually, he found what he'd been looking for. It was the very same cave that the deathstalker had been hiding in back when he and Pyrrha were in initiation. With any luck, that giant monster would have pushed out any other possible threats that could've resided in there. Then he could swoop in and take it for himself.

Turning on the pip-boy light and cautiously advancing, he went into the cave, Crocea Mors up and ready. The cave was still scratched and scoured from the deathstalker's violent eruption, with rubble and cracks littering the floor. He swallowed. It really did remind him of the tunnels back in the wasteland, the ones filled with deathclaws and ants and yaoi-gui. The ones that were actually quite safe after you cleared out whatever Hellspawn resided within.

Thankfully, it seemed that his gambit had payed off, since there was nothing else left in the cavern anymore. It ran deep into the mountain, well past even the point where the deathstalker had been. Eventually he found a crack just large enough for him to get into. On the other side was a small, residual cave. It was cramped and dry, just large enough to give him the room he needed to lay out his mat.

His team might question where he went at night, but he sincerely doubted that they would ever bring their concerns to the teachers, since such an action would require that any concern existed in the first place.

He thought back to way that Nora had looked at him when he woke up from his nightmare, an innocent and natural reaction to his pain. He thought back to Ruby's kind smile and compassion for him which had already flowered. They might be concerned... they might care...

That knowledge placed a strange sensation in his face, one that tried to make his lips curl upwards.

He batted one hand against the side of his head to get rid of those stupid, stupid thoughts.

He set down his pack and sleeping mat, before lying down and shutting off the light on his pip boy. This place was unexpectedly perfect. The entrance was a narrow, tight fit that none of the Grimm he'd yet met could fit into. Not only that, but the ground outside was littered with rock and debris, guaranteeing an audible approach.

He yawned and put out his cigarette, flicking it into the corner of the cave. He then stretched out on the mat. The sun hadn't even set, but he was exhausted. The past few days had been so stressful, so tiring and so bereft of sleep that he fell asleep immediately.

Maybe, maybe, just maybe, he'd finally be able to get some good rest tonight...

He was wrenched up from the ground and thrown against the wall. The back of his head cracked against the stone, and his vision descended into a hazy blur. He collapsed back to ground, world spinning, before something smashed into the side of his head.

He was sent sprawling to the floor. Before he could even react again, a hand wrapped around his throat and hoisted him up off his feet. It was dark, and there was no way for him to see his opponent. Even through the darkness, he could feel that kind smile cutting into him.

With a genial laugh, Bishop Beauvais threw him away like a discarded piece of trash.

"Oh my, look at that. Too pathetic to even stay in the same room with those people, so you come all the way out here?"

The Wanderer gasped for air within the dark room, hands massaging his throat as he coughed.

Bishop laughed again. "To be honest, though, I didn't expect anything more from you. How could I?" The tone of his voice held that familiar kindliness that made the Wanderer want to vomit. "But it really is just like you? Isn't it? Unable to deal with a problem, you don't deal with it at all. You just run away." Bishop walked closer to the still panting Wanderer and placed his boot against the back of his head, forcing his face down against the cold, hard ground. "And the _lies_ you've been telling yourself... 'danger', huh? You're telling yourself that you're only avoiding them for all the danger they possess? If that was the case, then you wouldn't have gone out of your way to make them enemies in the first place. No, you're just running, running because you can't handle getting close to anyone, not anymore."

Bishop twisted his boot, grinding it into the Wanderer's skull.

"That's all you've been doing for a long time: running. You ran after the Battle at Adams Air Force Base, even took a new name when you did. _Lone Wanderer_. You ran and ran and ran, all the way here to Remnant. You ran so far you wound up in a different world." Bishop leaned down and lowered his voice to something barely above a whisper. "But even here, you continue to run."

Once again, the Wanderer was picked up off the ground and hurled through the air. Once again, he fell with a crash rolling to a dead stop. Normally, he would've sprung up to his feet at that moment, but that same peculiar paralysis struck him. He could do nothing more than lay there, sprawled out helplessly on the ground of the dark room as Bishop approached once more.

"You run from your new team; you run from that girl Ruby. You know, it was _your_ idea to start going to the armory with her. No need to hate her for something where the blame resides solely with _you_ , as does the blame for everything else." Bishop sighed. "But that's just what you do, isn't it? You fail, time and time again. I'm not surprised you've started to take it all out on everyone around you, since Lord knows you're too weak to handle it yourself."

Bishop walked around him slowly, the hells of his boots clicking against the dark room's floor. "You can't even stomach talking to anyone—pathetic. They just bring up your old team too much, isn't that it?"

Even if the Wanderer could have talked, he wouldn't have been able to say a word to that.

"Everyone wants to know how you're getting along with your team... and none of them can understand, huh? Every time they ask that, you think back to _them_ don't you? And you don't want to think about them. That's the whole point for you running, after all."

Bishop stopped walking. Now that his resounding footfalls were gone, the dark room was filled with complete, unnerving silence.

"I think I know why you hate Ruby the most. It's because she reminds you of someone you used to know, right?"

Anger boiled up within the Wanderer. Anger, mixed with something else as well. Something worse, something caustic, something painful and frightening that roiled in his stomach.

"Oh yes, she reminds you of him."

Shut up!

"She reminds you of Max, doesn't she?"

Just shut the fuck up already!

"Maxwell Noble? You remember him, right?"

Please, just shut up!

"Heh, he was nice, wasn't he? Always optimistic, a real go-getter, something truly unique in the Wasteland. He was just like Ruby."

Be quiet!

"Both so hopeful, right? As long as you've been the Lone Wanderer, you've always wished that you could have the sort of outlook that he had. Looks like you found it again in Ruby. Nora has the same sort of thing, but her aloof and near insane nature just isn't quite like what Max's was, now is it? Ruby is exactly the same."

Be quiet...

"Heh, Ruby and Max would've been pretty good friends., huh?"

Just be quiet...

"Not like you're friends with anyone, though. You haven't had a friend since the day you were born, Lone Wanderer. No one loves you, no matter how much you wish they did."

Please...

"Please? Please what? Please be quiet?"

The Lone Wanderer's eyes widened.

"Oh come on, don't be surprised. You can't keep anything secret from me in here. This is _my_ domain. You belong to _me."_ Something clicked and hissed in the darkness. A sword was being drawn from its sheath.

Suddenly, a flume of fire erupted and spread up the blade. Rubrum Mors, in all its terrible glory. The metal seethed red hot as flames writhed and coiled all along it. A long, tapered blade that was of exquisite make, perfectly balanced, perfectly forged. Perfectly engineered for killing, just like its wielder.

Bishop Beauvais's smiled widened. "Fantastic, isn't she? Made of duraframe, just like Crocea Mors. They're sisters, you know? Part of the same melee-weapon development program the Enclave was undertaking before you ruined everything." The hot flames' light glinted in Bishop's cold eyes. "The only difference is that I _earned_ mine. It was bestowed to me by the President as a way to commend my service. Yours was stolen, then given to you by Lyons as a way to say sorry." Bishop waved the sword deftly through the air, which it cut and consumed to feed those vicious flames. "Sure, you already know all of that, but I can't help but remind you. Remind you of your crippling inadequacy."

Bishop raised the sword well above his head.

The Lone Wanderer was powerless to do anything but stare in horror, just as he had all those months ago.

Rubrum Mors came careening down, the hissing of the sword mixing with the soft beat of Bishop's laugh. The furious orange flame was the last thing he saw—

He shot bolt upright in the cave. His skin was covered in sweat, and for a moment, he was terrified that he was still dreaming. But the musty smell of the cave and the coarse sensation of bare stone sat at odds with the utter lack of sensation that characterized the dark room. He was awake. Thank God.

He was also cold, very much so. Whether that was because the cave itself was actually cold or just the lingering sense of unease from the nightmare playing tricks on him, he had no idea. It didn't matter though, since he shivered all the same. He curled up for warmth and nestled his head in his arms. He'd come all the way out there to try and get away from that. He hadn't had nightmares this bad in a long time. He'd hoped that pressing himself into the dangerous forest would alleviate this, but it didn't.

Why couldn't it? He just wanted to have quiet. He just wanted to have calm. He just wanted to have relaxation.

He brought his legs in against his chest and rested his head on his knees. Everything had come crashing down on him in the last few days... because he'd settled. He'd dared to stop, to live in a situation that was dangerously safe. His life had to have turmoil in it. If there was no outer turmoil, then there would be inner turmoil. His shoulders started to shake as tears slowly rolled down his cheeks. He was alone, perfectly so, thus there was no danger of his weakness being revealed.

"Why are things like this?" he asked to someone, to anyone, to no one. "What... what did I do... what did I do to deserve this..." His breath hitched in his throat. "W-why? What did I do... why does everything have to hurt so much..." He brought his legs in close, forming a tight ball that shuddered against the rock wall. "Things used to be nice... I used to be a good person..." Words abandoned him as he started sobbing.

He just wanted to have peace.

* * *

 **Finally we see a moment of weakness. All that stress from having to reintegrate into society and face his past is really taking a toll. We see a bit more of Bishop and a bit more of the Wanderer's lore. Indeed, both he and Bishop possess different prototype swords from the same program, though they obviously had very different development paths.**

 **Not much else to say this time around, so, as always, feel free to post a review or a question!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Welcome back. Hope you enjoy this chapter, in which the Lone Wanderer gets his ass whooped multiple times, lol. He really does wind up in the darndest situations.**

* * *

His heart pumped wildly.

He leapt up the steps two at a time, John and Jane doing the same behind him, with Dogmeat bounding up alongside. They'd been attacked. Project Purity was in jeopardy. He had no idea who these people were, but they were clad in power armor and had weapons more advanced than anything else he'd ever seen. They even had vertibirds! He didn't think any of those still existed, but there they'd been. He didn't know anything about these people, other than that they'd attacked him when they first met in the basement.

If they'd attacked him, then they must've attacked Dad too.

He had his Chinese assault rifle raised. It wouldn't do any good against power armor, but those two they'd fought just a second before had fired plasma at him, striking and ruining his laser rifle. John and Jane had looted the plasma rifles, while he kept his assault rifle, which would be good for pumping out covering fire for his allies, at least until he could get a hold of another plasma rifle for himself.

They emerged from the stairway and were faced by only an empty hallway. Nevertheless, he held his gun up before him, his companions doing the same. They just needed—

The solid concrete wall beside him _shattered._ Chunks of cement buffeted him, accompanied by bent hunks of rebar. A flash of orange crashed through his vision and, before he knew it, the assault rifle in his hands was cut in half, annihilated in a single strike and ending the fight before it even began.

Something smashed into his side and launched him off his feet, into the wall. He fell and cracked his head against the floor, leaving his vision swimming in a blurry haze. He vaguely heard the twins shouting nearby and a few plasma shots, along with the crunch of more cement; Dogmeat barked and snarled, then whined in pain.

It was that which made him rise up to try and face his attacker, even if he was still barely coherent. No one would hurt his dog! He squinted, vision still clouded with smalls sparks that winked in and out of existence. It was a young man, a teenager no older than himself, dressed in a crisp grey uniform. He was handsome, with slicked blonde hair and striking blue eyes. The two of them actually looked pretty similar, enough to pass as brothers.

His assailant held a long, flaming sword.

Further down the hall, both John and Jane had now been restricted by two soldiers in that strange power armor. They looked like humanoid, metal insects with those big, beady eyes. Less like people and more like aliens. Dogmeat lay on the floor nearby, whining. He didn't seem to be wounded, but a cursory glance revealed the young man had his hand still in the air, and he was the only one with a free hand at all. Dogmeat must have leapt at him, only to be batted back.

That bastard! He was still covered in dust from the broken cement wall, and his uniform, although neat, was ruffled and dirty from his recent crash through the concrete—

Wait, had he gone through the concrete all on his own? Without power armor?

Whatever! The stars were fading, and that bastard was sheathing his sword. He felt less wobbly on his feet, so now was as good a time as any. He roared and charged forward, intent on attacking the prick, then maybe stealing that sidearm of his, a weird looking pistol at his waist. Getting a weapon was key. He threw a punch right at his head.

Just a moment before he struck, however, his foe turned around. For being in a combat situation, he seemed inordinately happy and relaxed, with a polite smile on his face. He continued to smile, as he deftly caught his punch in one hand, easily stopping all of the force behind it. Then the bastard crushed his hand in a vice-like grip, breaking bones with a sickening series of cracking sounds that had him gasping in pain. Then he yanked on his arm, nearly pulling it out of the socket with how all the force, and threw him through the fresh hole in the concrete wall.

He tumbled head over heels and sprawled out on the floor. He wanted to stay there, to cradle his shattered hand and writhe in pain, but this was life or death. He rolled and looked desperately about for a weapon, spotting a lead pipe on the floor nearby, discarded during all the recent maintenance.

He grabbed it with his good hand and jumped back to his feet. His opponent hadn't even bothered to draw his sword again, the cocky bastard. And he still had that stupid damn smile on his face, like he's just heard a polite joke. He snarled at the sight of it. Well, he'd just have to wipe that stupid look right off his face!

He swung the pipe in a short, strong strike against his opponent, aiming right for the head. It'd be enough to break his jaw if it landed, but they guy would surely try to dodge or block it in some way. It was a frustrated, sloppy attack.

Nonetheless, the pipe sailed through the air unimpeded. And just a fraction of a second before it landed, it seemed that it'd land after all...

Right until his foe's hand moved impossible quickly and caught the pipe, putting it to a dead stop. His smile didn't waver. In a blitz, the prick wrenched the pipe out of his hands with a strong tug and pivoted into a short punch that landed right in his gut in one smooth motion.

He stumbled back, feeling like he'd been blasted point-blank with a shotgun. He gasped for breath, which the single punch had robbed him of completely. His entire stomach felt like it was going to turn into one big bruise. He barely stayed on his feet for a few seconds, before crumpling to the floor.

He looked up with watery eyes at his attacker. The teen was chuckling lightly as he examined the weapon in his hands. Then, grabbing it by either end, he folded the pure lead, straight pipe in on itself until it hit a ninety-degree angle. Then he threw it aside, letting it clatter on the floor, now totally warped.

What the Hell.

"Son!"

It was his dad, set up against the wall alongside the other scientists. Several of the power armored soldiers pointed their plasma rifles at the group to keep them in line. Even then, his father took a few steps forward at the sight of his injured son, before stopping as one of the soldiers pointed his rifle at him. He managed to marshal his discipline with a few long, deep breaths. When he was done, the stoic and strong scientist returned. He addressed the nearest soldier.

"What are you doing? Why attack us? The Enclave has no authority here."

Enclave, that was right. That's what Dad had called these people over the intercom, but that still didn't answer his questions. Not like he could ask them, still wheezing on the floor. One of the soldiers came by and picked him up, then frisked him. After finding no more weapons, he was shoved back to the wall with the rest of the scientists. The same treatment was given to John and Jane.

The teenager in the nice uniform casually dusted himself off and righted the various contours set in his outfit by the fight, which had left him no worse for wear. After almost a minute of this silent caretaking, he opened his mouth as if to speak.

Dogmeat stopped that. He limped into the room, growling at the various soldiers. His hackles were raised, teeth bared.

"Dogmeat, no!" he said. His dog would be blasted instantly by these bastards, and his eyes widened in fear as several of them readied their plasma rifles.

"Oh that's adorable, you have a dog." It was the teenager he'd fought. His voice was far too calm and warm for the situation, tinted with a refined southern accent and a friendly tone. "Men, let the hound pass. You can't fault it for wanting to get back to its master, can you?"

The various soldiers in the room looked back at the young man, now revealed as their leader, strangely enough. Why they would listen to a kid, he had no idea. They followed his orders immediately, however, backing off and letting Dogmeat limp over to him. He winced as he bent down to pat Dogmeat on the head. His stomach ached from the blow, but his dog looked to be worse off.

"It's precious, truly, the relationship between a boy and his dog," that bastard said, sounding as if he was genuinely pleased by the sight. Maybe he was, the psycho. "You know, my father used to tell me all sorts of tales about him and his dog, Honey. They grew up in rural Kentucky together and would go on adventures. Those always made for my favorite bedtime stories growing up." He looked away, reminiscing in the nostalgia. "Consequently, I've always desired a dog of my own, but the circumstances never allowed it—"

"Are you going to continue taunting us, or was there a purpose for your invasion?" Dad asked. The room fell silent. Some of the Enclave soldiers turned on the spot and raised their weapons at his father.

"How dare you interrupt Agent Beauvais as he speaks, mutie!" one of them snarled, finger on the trigger of his rifle.

"Arthur, please don't be so rude to such a fine gentleman. He's naturally curious, is all," the one named Beauvais said, reaching out one hand and gesturing the soldier to lower his weapon in the same way one would command a pet to sit.

"Yes sir, sorry sir," Arthur replied, instantly lowering his weapon and returning to his previous guard position.

Strange, such iron-clad discipline and subservience toward a teenager.

"Now sir, before I answer your question, I believe that some introductions are required. May I call you James?" Beauvais looked at his dad, who only nodded curtly. "Excellent," he said warmly, as if he was legitimately excited to be on a first-name basis with a new friend. "Well, I am Special Agent Bishop Beauvais of the United States Secret Service. To continue amicability, you may call me Bishop. I am here acting as a representative of the venerable President Eden. The original representative, one Colonel Autumn, was reappointed." He leaned in and lowered his voice to a faux-whisper that was still audible to all. "Now, I'm not a vain person, but I think you all are lucky. I'm by and large considered the more cordial and understanding man between the two of us."

"That's what you call this, cordial and understanding?" His father asked, voice tinged with anger as he swept his hand gestured at the assembled soldiers and battered civilians.

"Compared to what I could've done, yes," Bishop replied. "I could've come in here, slaughtered most of you and tortured what I needed out of whoever survived."

No one said a word.

"But I won't do that. Instead, I'm being cordial and understanding. The Enclave values all of you for your skill, all you fine people. Honestly, it's a laudable goal you're trying to attain: free, clean water for the wasteland." Bishop brought one hand up to his chin, an exaggerated expression of thinking.

"In fact, I'd say it's rather noble _,"_ he said with a chuckle.

"Are you going to continue trying to flatter us, or will you get to the point already?" James asked.

"Oh my, ready to get going. I can respect that." Bishop approached the group. "The Enclave understand the immense value of your efforts here. Accordingly, we've decided to nationalize Project Purity and bring it under our jurisdiction. Of course, you may all continue working on the project, should you comply with us."

"Comply? Comply with a group of murderous fascists?"

"Oh my, those are strong words. Where on Earth did you hear something like that?"

James's eyes narrowed. "I heard plenty about the Enclave during my time working with the Brotherhood. You're monsters." James crossed his arms over his chest. "I refuse to work with you."

The scientists around him echoed his stalwart refusal. Only Dogmeat, growling, made a sound.

"So... no?" Bishop asked.

James nodded.

Bishop's smile didn't fade, not in the slightest. In fact, it seemed to grow a little wider. "Well, I'm sorry to hear that, I really am. Perhaps I can still convince you. See, you're all men and women of science, and I myself am a creation of modern science." Bishop placed one hand over his heart, like he was making an oath. "Just to show you how respectful and serious the Enclave considers scientific pursuits, perhaps I shall give a direct demonstration of my abilities, to prove our commitment to righteous scientific development."

Bishop strolled up to the group, who backed away from him, pressing themselves closer against the wall. He stopped just in front of James, who continued to stare him right in the eyes, unflinching. Then, in a fraction of a second, Bishop pivoted and his hand flashed out to side, striking a nearby scientist in the chest.

A sickening crunch cracked through the room as her sternum gave way to his fist.

The young man who would one day be called the Lone Wanderer looked on in horror as the woman tried to scream, only for the sound to come out as a strangled gurgle. Before she could fall to the floor, Bishop grabbed her by either side of the head.

Then he squeezed.

She beat against him fruitlessly, kicking and punching ferociously. Her strikes didn't faze him in the slightest. He only continued applying pressure—more and more. Her skull fractured and split. Blood and brain matter spurted out in disgusting squelches. Her wild thrashing and squealing did nothing to stop the slow, exponential destruction. She shuddered and twitched, finally becoming limp. He let her fall to the ground, head well and truly crushed. Bishop himself was covered in random splashes of blood and gore. There was even a spot of grey matter on his face.

Nevertheless, he continued to smile all the same, as if he was in the middle of a game.

One of the scientists doubled over and vomited.

"Well, I hope that my display has been sufficient," Bishop said as he walked away from the group. He picked up a stray lab coat from a table and began wiping off the blood and gore. "I don't suppose you've reconsidered your previous statement? If not, then I can continue demonstrating my abilities."

"No!" James shouted. "No... please, no more bloodshed. If you'll just follow me, then I'll show you to the purifier core. I'll turn over everything."

Bishop tilted his head, examining James as if her were some kind of interesting animal, a puppy on the other side of a pet store window who'd finally decided to do the trick he'd wanted it to. "Excellent."

The Enclave soldiers allowed James to break off and lead Bishop to the central rotunda of the memorial. The young man was powerless as he watched his father march away, followed by that... that inhuman... _thin_ g.

Beside him, Li carefully shifted aside.

James led Bishop up the steps and into the rotunda itself. He walked up to the main control console and began showing things to Bishop. James leaned over and hit one switch. Then everything went to Hell.

The purifier apparatus at the rotunda exploded. Plumes of grey smog spewed out of the machine, filling up the air alongside the sounds of ripping metal and shattering glass. Instantly, the emergency alarm began to blare, releasing a siren along with a flood of red light into the compound. The emergency doors to the rotunda closed, and his father was sealed away with the monster.

The Enclave soldiers immediately started shouting, but Li sprang into action before them. She grabbed a loose cable from the wall, simultaneously flipping a lever nearby. The end of the cord crackled with electrical energy, and she threw it onto the back of the one of the Enclave soldiers, one clad in Tesla armor. The exposed cable struck the tesla device on his back and instantly made it spark and smoke. The lights in the facility flickered on and off rapidly as the Enclave soldier spasmed and screamed.

Eventually, the soldier collapsed to the floor, and the lights turned off completely.

In the darkness, the young man dashed down to the smoking corpse of the electrocuted soldier, immediately picking up the plasma . The memorial's emergency lights turned on, dim and low on power. Everything was bathed in the color of drying blood, accompanied by the shrill shriek of the alarms.

All Hell broke loose.

The soldiers fired, and the scientists scrambled for whatever cover they could find. The young man instantly took the plasma rifle in his good hand, gripping the handle and putting the end of the rifle in the crook of his elbow, aiming it at the closest soldier. From his vantage on the floor, he shot up and struck the man in his neck, making him stumble and collapse. John dashed in and picked up his plasma rifle before ducking away from a hail of plasma fire and getting back behind a set of lab equipment.

There was chaos as the room filled with screaming, shouting, shooting and running.

He had only one thought on his mind, however. His dad was stuck with that psycho in the rotunda, and he wouldn't stand a chance against that bastard. He braved vicious green globs of energy as he dashed for the purifier. It was filled now with sickly, gray gas. His dad was in there. He had to be in there.

He had to be okay.

He had to be.

Please, please for the love of God let him be okay.

He got up to the glass and peered in. He barely perceived a couple figures, one that was standing still, another lurching about. It stumbled around and eventually up to the glass. His father. It was his dad, coughing his lungs out. For a brief moment, father and son looked one another in the eye.

Then there was a flash of green, and his dad's brains liquified. Grey matter, blood, flesh and shattered skull all formed a revolting amalgam of gore that slapped against the glass, right in front of the son's eyes.

His jaw dropped. The chaotic cacophony in the room died and fell away, leaving him in silence. It felt like a gargantuan snake coiled around him, and was now squeezing and constricting, binding him close and forcing out every last speck of air. The serpent's vice pushed out any feeling, any residual pain from where he'd been punched or even his broken hand—an all-encompassing numbness devoured him.

Then from the smog he came. Bishop Beauvais came close to the glass, even as his father's corpse slid down and away, out of sight. He held a plasma pistol in one hand, which he now holstered. Even when subsumed in toxic, radioactive gas, he had that same smile etched on his face; it looked like he had just come around to say hello to an old friend.

Bishop reared back one hand and struck out at the glass. Li had once explained it was thick glass designed to resist possible explosions or critical failures from the main purifier system, containing the damage to just the rotunda. It could even withstand gunshots.

Bishop's fist hit the glass, which buckled under his knuckles and split into web-work of cracks. It didn't shatter, however, holding firm. But another strike followed, which made the glass shudder and crackle. Another and another, the glass steadily bent outwards, becoming more and more broken and dejected with each hit.

The lost son wanted to do something. He wanted to do many things. He wanted to scream, to cry, to pull up the plasma rifle and fire and fire and fire through the glass until this bastard who'd taken his father away was dead, was reduced to a pile of goo on the ground.

He could do nothing but stand and stare. The world around him had gone dark. Everything ceased to exist. His mind became perfectly, completely, absolutely blank. The only family he'd ever had, his constant companion, the man who'd educated him and raised him and encouraged him his entire life. Gone. All of it.

It all flashed before his eyes. When he was six, he caught pneumonia and his dad took days off to slave over him and see his recovery to health. When he was eight, his dad caught him trying to make his own cherry bombs, with incredibly poor success, then made them with him and they each went out to an abandoned warehouse wing to test them out, laughing the entire time. When he was ten, his dad got him very own BB gun and took him shooting. When he was twelve, he was hurt during guard training and his dad came to pick him up ten minutes within being notified, staying with him day and night after to make sure he was okay. When he was fifteen, he stayed up late with his dad to practice for his first date, and when he was stood up, his father was there to console him.

All of these memories and more flashed through his head, but they came and passed in a moment, too sudden, too like the lightning, which doth cease to be ere one can say, "it lightens."

His father had always loved Shakespeare.

Something struck him in his face, quick and painful. The shock brought him back to reality, and he thrashed away, trying to draw up his rifle to shoot down his attacker.

"Snap out of it!" John yelled. "We've got to get out of here!" John grabbed him by the arm and yanked them away, just as the glass finally shattered behind them. He was hauled away, barely able to stay on his feet, legs as weak as wet paper. They ducked down just as blast of gatling-laser fire passed over them.

They turned around a corner, where Li and the other scientists were huddled. Jane and Dogmeat stood with them.

"Here!" Li shouted. She pulled open a grate in the floor, leading down into a tunnel. "It's the emergency escape, get going, everyone!"

They did. The scientists first, then Dogmeat hopped down, then Jane, then John forced him down, then John himself followed, barely escaping a barrage of energy blasts. John wrenched him along, further down the tunnel, before throwing him away and rooting through his bag.

He pulled out one of his self-declared "trump cards". John had always liked working with explosives, and the mini-nuke was his ultimate interest. Reworking one into a grenade had been insane, but it certainly came in handy at the moment. He threw it and yelled, "Get down and cover your ears!"

Just as a couple Enclave soldiers dropped down the grate after them, the mini-nuke grenade landed at their feet. A few seconds later, it exploded.

They'd all taken John's orders to heart, even the young man had heard the wisdom through his muted state. He pressed his hands against his ears, hugged the floor and screwed his eyes shut. A bright flash pushed through his eyelids. An incredible sound of thunder blasted through the tunnel, making him wince with how hard it hit his ears. He was washed in a wave of heat, followed quickly by a barrage of debris. His pip-boy's Geiger counter crackled with rads.

Then it was over. The awesome roar was replaced with an empty silence; the bright light, replaced by an all-encompassing darkness. The first sounds were that of those around him shuffling as they tried to find their way to their feet in the dark. Then there were whimpers and groans from the pain sustained.

He couldn't manage the power to rise, couldn't even find the strength to cry.

A hand gripped his shoulder, likely John or Jane trying to give him whatever comfort they could. He tried to bat them away, only to find that a kind of paralysis had descended upon him. He must be in shock... or... no... oh no... God no...

Light chuckling echoed through the dark room.

"My, my, my, the first time we ever met," Bishop said. "I suppose that I didn't make the best impression, hm? Killing your father and all." The grip about his arm tightened into that of a steel vice as he hauled him up off of the ground and threw him away with one arm. Bishop's strength in the dark room had always been an accurate representation of his strength in real life.

The Lone Wanderer landed on the floor, ribs aching from the impact.

"Let's make things interesting, why don't we." Bishop snapped his fingers.

Instantly, the Wanderer found his muscles empowered, once more able to speak.

"You bastard!"

Or scream.

He sprung to his feet and charged at the dim figure of Bishop. He couldn't see his face, but he knew for a fact that that bastard had the awful smile on. The same smile he'd worn when he killed his father.

He'd kill him. He'd kill him. He'd kill him.

He threw out one hand at Bishop to punch him in the face, but it was easily swatted aside. Bishop shifted and grabbed the Wanderer by the throat, instantly pulling him up off of his feet.

"Now, now, what's the purpose of such violence?"

The Wanderer struggled to speak with what little air he had through the vice grip, but he wouldn't be forced to shy away from the challenge. "You... killed... my... dad..."

Bishop wrenched him close, so close that their faces must have been only inches apart, even though he couldn't see it. He knew despite the darkness, for that cool breath washed onto him rhythmically, steadily, calmly.

"And you killed mine," Bishop replied. "An eye for an eye, hmm? You took away everything _I_ cared about, and I took away everything _you_ cared about." He tightened his grip on the Wanderer's throat, before hurling away across the dark room.

He hit the ground and rolled back up to his feet. Coughing, he looked back into the darkness, but wasn't able to make out any tangible figure.

"We're actually pretty similar, you and I," Bishop said; his voice seemed to come both from nowhere and everywhere all at once, echoing throughout the dark room.

"We're nothing alike!" The Wanderer shouted. His voice was hoarse, and it hurt to speak, but he wouldn't be cowed. He looked wildly through the dark room, trying to catch a glimpse of where his adversary could possibly be. There was nothing.

"Oh please, don't be like that. You know, my father—"

"He wasn't even your real dad!" The Wanderer shouted.

Something crashed into the side of his head, sending him tumbling to the floor once more. The strike was followed immediately by a snap of the fingers, and the Wanderer lay unmoving, helpless.

"How dare you say that, you scum," Bishop said. Even now, his voice didn't hold a sliver of anger, didn't denote anything but kindness. The juxtaposition between his words and his tone was as bizarre as ever. Undoubtedly, that smile persisted as well. "He's the man who raised me, who gave me my values, who looked after me when I was hurt and afraid. Just the same as yours." The heel of Bishop's boot pressed into the back of his skull, and he pressed down with greater and greater force, squeezing his head into the ground harder and harder until it felt like it was about to break.

"The only difference is that mine didn't abandon me..."

* * *

By the time battle class rolled around, he still had a headache. The feeling of Bishop slowly crushing his skull with his boot hadn't faded once he woke up, instead persisting in a dull ache that still reminded him of the dreaded dream and the dreaded memories it had comprised.

He'd woken up in his little cave, as he had the last few days. As he'd expected, his teammates hadn't questioned his absence, nor had anyone else, not like anyone else could've noticed.

Several days had now passed since joining Beacon, since going out with Ruby, since the incident with the fire sword. He'd settled into a routine. He'd go to sleep late and wake up early, getting maybe four or five hours of sleep. While awake, he'd spend all of his time alone in the gym, working out, or alone in the gardens, studying. The important thing was that he was alone. Alone and tired, so that'd he'd be able to get to sleep as quickly as possible without worrying about his team or falling back into the maw of thought.

It... wasn't really working all that well, but he'd keep up the pace, hoping that eventually his exhaustion could let him rest easy once more.

As it was, he sat in Miss Goodwitch's class, hands cradling his aching head.

Team cardinal were up to spar, the leader and his partner. He'd never bothered to learn their names. He'd payed close attention over the last few days to every spar, trying to learn from the other students' successes and failures. Now, however, as it became clear that the big one was going to win, his eyes wandered.

His gaze drifted across the room, passing by Ruby Rose. She sat in the front row, watching with rapt interest, as she had every fight. Undoubtedly, she was fascinated by the performance of each combatant's weapon. Funny, how someone so innocent could be so engrossed by something like weaponry. She'd never use them the way he had.

If Ruby ever found out what terrible things he'd done, she'd never forgive him.

Not that he cared, of course. In fact, he'd been avoiding her completely the past few days, taking roundabout routes to and from class to get around speaking to her. Not only that, but every time she came up to talk, he'd pretend not to hear, or brush her off with a vague statement of some previous commitment. The two hadn't gone back to the armory yet. He just... couldn't quite stand her, in some weird way for whatever weird reason. He just... didn't like the way he felt around her. There was a strange empty feeling in his chest, like something was missing, like there was supposed to be something more.

 _She reminds you of Max, doesn't she? Those two would've been pretty good friends..._

He shook his head to dispel Bishop's words. Bastard. Just refocus away from that girl.

His gaze shifted away, to the three people who were supposed to be his new team. They sat next to each other, not far away from team RWBY, and it appeared that they'd become disinterested in the fight as he had. Pyrrha and Ren were sparing Nora their attention as the bombastic girl told some sort of story. What it was, he had no idea.

But it seemed pretty fun.

Nora had a large smile split across her face, and Pyrrha was hiding her smile and giggles behind her hand. Even the stoic Ren had a warmth in his expression that denoted fondness. Nora acted out whatever she was telling using an apple, tossing it around from hand to hand, pointing at it, making exclamations. Whether the poor little piece of fruit was the hero of her story or the villain, he couldn't tell.

Eventually, Nora's frantic motions got the better of her, and the apple slipped out of her hand and fell aside to the floor, ending her story as the girl looked glumly at the doomed fruit.

The Lone Wanderer was exhausted. Exhausted, with a splitting headache that made him all the more tired. And exhaustion has the inevitable effect of bringing a person's dreams to the forefront of their consciousness, whether through sleep or through idle thought. Accordingly, the Wanderer couldn't help the thoughts that followed.

He imagined for a moment, a different world, a world where he sat beside those three. He was with them, and he knew perfectly well what the story was about. He laughed alongside them. He knew whether or not the apple was the hero or villain. Maybe he even sat in the right spot to catch it when Nora dropped it, then he could laugh and toss it back to her and she could continue her story and the four of them could all be together like a team... like he used to...

That sounded nice...

His musing was cut off by Glynda Goodwitch's sharp voice.

"Match over! Cardin Winchester is the victor. Mr. Thrush, you performed well, but I'd recommend—" She continued like that for a few minutes, critiquing both of them on their fighting styles and offering advice on what to improve. When she finished, she turned her attention back to the crowd. "Now for our final match of partner combat, Pyrrha Nikos and Jaune Arc."

The Lone Wanderer sighed.

The moment had finally come, huh? He'd known this was bound to happen, of course. Every pair had been going at each other since the day class started, and it seemed he'd been saved for last.

He rose from his seat and started shaking out the tense soreness from his muscles. He still felt somewhat weak, a kind of apprehension that felt like it was holding him back, slowing him down. That wouldn't do.

That wouldn't do at all.

Pyrrha Nikos, as he'd come to learn, was easily one of the most skilled and proficient fighter in his grade, perhaps the entire school. He, on the other hand, had no real idea where his skill level was in this world. The only time he'd fought against another person here was the rogue huntsman back on his very first day in Remnant, but that hadn't been a fight at all. If he remembered correctly, it'd taken just one punch to end him.

Now, he had aura. Now, everything was different. He adeptly wielded Crocea Mors back in the wasteland, but the wasteland was the wasteland and Remnant was Remnant. Time to see how things worked.

He shook out his limbs and cracked his neck. He bounced on the heels of his feet. Adrenaline slowly made its way into his system as he saw his opponent make her way up onto the stage. He grasped the hilt of Crocea Mors. He locked eyes with his 'partner'. Her emerald gaze focused on him coldly. She hated him. Good. It'd save everyone a lot of trouble if that was how things were.

The room was utterly silent as he made his way up to—

"Woo-hoo, go Jaune!"

Alright, the room _had_ been utterly silent. Ruby had taken it upon herself to end that peace. He looked over at her, just in time to see the girl flash him a large smile and a thumbs-up. Well would you look at that, he had a fan. Not that he cared, of course. He despised her, after all. He spared her only a curt nod.

He stood a little bit taller as he made his way onto the stage.

He marched the rest of the way up to the stage. As he neared his opponent, the silence began to dissolve as more and more students muttered to one another. Undoubtedly, they were excited to see just what this 'invincible girl' could really do. If they'd been back in the Capitol Wasteland, everyone would've been looking at him, in wary awe of seeing the Lone Wanderer go about his brutal business. But this wasn't the wasteland.

Now, he was no one.

Still, he elicited a few 'oohs' as he drew Crocea Mors on the stage. Of all the bizarre weapons he'd seen since arriving on Remnant, his own sword had managed to remain distinct as the only chainsaw around. It really was a lovely instrument. He looked down at it now. Crocea Mors had dozens of tiny little teeth made of duraframe, latched onto a belt around a duraframe skeleton and casing. It'd stay sharp and durable for decades, even without aura backing it up. They'd been through a lot together... and Pyrrha Nikos would soon learn that.

He'd have to leave the Mysterious Magnum in its holster. It still only had two bullets left, and Ruby had already declared those 'strange'. The ballistics of this world were radically different from his own, and he didn't want to draw additional attention through the distinction.

This wouldn't be too bad. After all, he'd had to rely totally on Crocea Mors plenty of times before, whenever he ran out of MF cells for Metal Blaster or .44 rounds for the Magnum.

He held Crocea Mors out in front of him, both hands on the hilt, finger on the trigger. He set one foot back behind him and settled into an assertive, forward-facing stance.

Pyrrha flashed out her weapon in its sword form, taking her shield in the other hand. She crouched low.

It was a fairly obvious move, that. She'd try and spring up from there, use the force from her legs to give any upwards-going strikes even more power. She could break his guard that way, throw his weapon and arms up in to the air, open him up to future attacks. It wasn't a bad tactic, by any means. It just wouldn't work now that he saw it.

He stared down at his opponent, sword ready.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

The world around him slowed to a crawl as he became completely and totally focused on his opponent. He observed everything about her, drawing in information on her entire body, from her hands to her feet. Now was where his VATS training would come in handy.

"Ready... begin!" Miss Goodwitch called.

Instantly, Pyrrha shot right for him.

In that moment, the exhausted malaise which had hung about him the entire day finally disappeared as adrenaline shot through his blood. His finger instinctively pulled back on Crocea Mors's trigger, and the ripper-sword roared to life. He flashed it up to deflect Pyrrha's first strike, which was more conservative than her breakneck dash would've suggested.

He quickly learned why, as she spun and struck at him with her shield, hitting him while slightly overstretched, since he'd overcompensated after expecting her initial attack to have more strength and follow through, rather than pull back and redirect.

She struck him in the shoulder, but rather than let it put him off-balance, he pivoted his hips and twisted on the balls of his feet to duck into a quick roll and avoid her slash. This girl was tricky. She was good.

The moment he got back to his feet, he had to deflect another strike, only to be put off mid-block as she transformed her sword into a spear and whirled it about, smacking him in the side of the head with the blunt end.

Pain cracked through his skull, and he grit his teeth. His strong aura blunted it, and the Lone Wanderer was used to enduring, so he pushed through what was obviously an attempt to disorient him. He'd been knocked in the head by a supermutant and suffered the resultant concussion well before he ever got aura. Such diversionary tactics weren't likely to work on him anytime soon.

He stepped in her guard and pressed Crocea Mors up to her midriff. He'd saw close and back away.

Pyrrha brought her shield down just in time to block it. The resulting screech as the ripper's serrated edge grinded against the metal had plenty people in the room covering their ears. Even Pyrrha winced. Heh, the Wanderer was well-used to such racket.

He took the initiative and brought Crocea Mors up, creating more of that metallic screaming as he drew it along her shield and took a step back, narrowly avoiding a stab that made his aura flicker, it came so close.

She shifted on her feet, shifting her weapon back into a sword as she did and hopped back away from him, shield raised and sword ready. She didn't move.

Ah, so that's how'd it be, huh? Just a little spate at the beginning to get to know each other a little bit, and now she'd back off to strategize... haha, no.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

He launched himself towards her and unleashed a flurry of blows, a barrage of quick, short slashes to pick apart her defense. The speed of his movements, the blurry edge of the running saw, the roar of the ripper, would all contribute to disorient his opponent and shortly give him an opening where he could step into their guard and press Crocea Mors against their flesh, tearing them apart. It was a common tactic he often used, and it worked on just about anyone.

Pyrrha Nikos wasn't anyone.

She caught each of his strikes in stride, before spinning in place, converting her sword back into a spear and _firing_ from the blunt end of it. The momentum from her spin and her shot sent it careening into him faster than he could react, and the point struck him right in the chest.

He winced as the air was driven out of his lungs.

She followed up quickly, shifting it back into a sword and sidestepping to slash at his flank, bringing her shield around to crack him in the temple as she did.

He ducked under her shield and brought up his sword to block hers.

Pyrrha's hand flashed with power. Her aura. It flowed into her sword and into the strike, which he managed to catch on Crocea Mors, but the additional power behind it sent him stumbling. She spun and kicked out one of her legs, tripping him and sending him falling onto his back.

He rolled out of the way of her downward stab and slashed up again. When he got back up to his feet, he had to evade another few strikes of hers, through either dodging or diverting them. That damned shield of hers added another element to the brawl, too. She used it well to keep up the pressure whenever she was gearing her sword/spear for another strike. With the two weapons in tandem, it was hard for him to find the opportunity to strike, especially since she never left herself open.

He swept out with Crocea Mors against her shield, grunting as he put a bit more strength behind it. He purposefully had struck when in a non-grounded stance, since every action has an equal and opposite reaction. He pushed back off of Pyrrha's shield and afforded himself some extra room.

Fighting with Crocea Mors was a balancing act of staying at a distance and getting close. On the one hand, he could stay at a distance and use its full reach to his advantage, swinging it around like a normal sword. On the other hand, he could get close and use its sawing ability as a ripper to press it up against his enemy. The former was a fine way of fighting, but the latter held the true devastating potential. The only problem was that Crocea Mors was pretty long, a couple feet, thus it became unwieldly in close quarters. This was what set it apart from other rippers _—_ it could work well at a distance because of its length, but it was more difficult to use in close range. That meant he'd need to step in extremely close within his opponent's guard and get them locked. It was an ambush strategy that required complete success to work, but when it did, it _worked_. A fight would be over in a second if he could pull it off, which he usually did. After all, having someone wave a chainsaw in your face was generally startling enough for him to find the opening necessary to step in and saw through his opponent. He'd believed—incorrectly—that he could translate that tactic to this fight.

It wasn't the case with Pyrrha Nikos. Her discipline was impressive, since she'd taken that opening strike of his in stride. At least he hadn't been foolish enough to press in completely; his attempt at getting close had been more probing than anything else, not expecting it to be so successful, only add another dimension of pressure to the fight. He hadn't expected Pyrrha to capitalize on it as she did. She really was good. He glanced up at the score-board which kept track of their respective aura. Pyrrha hadn't lost any, while he was already missing a significant chunk. Still in the green, but the disparity was telling.

The problem was that she was more accustomed to this world's fighting than he was. She had mastery over her aura that he didn't, and she'd undoubtedly trained with her weapons longer than he had. He was well-versed with Crocea Mors, but he hadn't even been using the ripper for a year. Granted, his extensive field experience gave a kind of skill different from what she had. If this was an all-out fight, he'd have spat in her eyes by now, reached out to claw her face. But he did no such thing, since Miss Goodwitch would've put a stop to that in a second.

Besides that, it would've been unnecessarily mean.

Now that they were further apart, Pyrrha put her shield on her back and extended her weapon out to its full spear form, taking it in both hands. The two traded blows, but the Wanderer didn't press in. Instead, he backpedaled, giving himself the room necessary to block her attacks and mount an effective defense as he collected himself.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

Pyrrha probably had the training and the familiarity, but he and Crocea Mors had been through so much together... she'd know that.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

The vault-tech assisted targeting program, a course designed for vault guards to teach them how to keep a cool head and analyze a situation at a breakneck pace, to coordinate one's movements most effectively. He'd gone through that training course for years. And he'd spent a year in the wasteland refining it.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

He stopped retreating and brought his sword to bare. Crocea Mors blurred as it swung in wide, fast arcs, roaring hungrily as it tore through the air. The room as filled with the metallic clashes of her spear striking against his ripper, though even those sharp cracks were dwarfed by the hearty scream of his sword. He sidestepped around and raked along her flank, his first considerable hit, then ducked under her counter-attack and parried the following thrust.

They batted at one another for another minute, neither quite able to gain an edge. However, that didn't mean it was even. Pyrrha managed to strike out and hit along is arms and even a few times in his torso. They weren't substantial strikes by any means, but each one took another fraction of his aura.

Then he saw his opening. Her spear extended out for just a split-second too long, and he shot one hand from Crocea Mors's hilt to take hold of the shaft just beneath the blade. He wrenched on it, more to pull himself forward than take her off-balance. He swung his ripper down and struck her wrist. Keeping hold of the spear to stop her from pulling away, he ground his sword's teeth into her hand.

A moment later, he realized his mistake.

Pyrrha simply winced and pulled her hand back, then jumped and twirled. He'd left himself off-balance by the gambit, and she was able to deliver a vicious kick to his ribs. He stumbled backwards, barely keeping his balance. Only by virtue of instinct did he get out of the way fast enough to avoid a short volley of shots from Pyrrha's rifle. She let loose a few more, which struck painfully against his aura, before charging in again.

Damn it. He was still thinking in terms of Earth. Back on his own planet, where aura didn't exist, a strike like that would've ended the fight, since she wouldn't have been able to continue wielding her spear with one hand ripped to shreds. Here, she was simply able to pull back and continue.

Stupid aura, ruining all of his tactics.

He was put on the defensive once more as she pressed in close, now with sword and shield. She tried to get in his guard, take advantage of his sword's length. Well, he'd had plenty of time to get used to fighting against people who tried to get in close to him, which was most every decent fighter with short weapons whom he'd faced who was either too disciplined, too stupid or too crazy to not be put off by his chainsaw.

He held Crocea Mors vertically, moving it in quick, deft movements to push aside her strikes from her sword. He used his shoulder to push back against her strikes with her shield.

She spun again, pulling that same move of shifting her sword into her spear and firing into a fast strike. Did she think he was stupid? His eyes narrowed in on her spear. He parried it with a curt cut then flashed it back up to cut along her chest. She started and stumbled back, but recovered before he could capitalize.

Again, they were set at a distance, spear on sword, attacking and counter-attacking blisteringly quickly. He managed another good cut at her stomach and one at her over-extended leg, but for each decent strike he got out, Pyrrha got two on him.

He was panting slightly now, and although he could physically maintain this level of activity for a while, the damage was mounting up. It didn't matter how much stamina you had if you were getting cut to shreds.

For a split-second, he flicked his eyes back to the scoreboard. He'd dropped into the yellow, while Pyrrha was about halfway through green. Fantastic.

The fight continued in a biased stalemate, with the much more well-versed Pyrrha eking out an edge, occasionally putting him off with more of those aura-enhanced strikes. It was frustrating, knowing you were being cut down slowly and not being able to do much about it. Everything about this fight had been frustrating. Primarily his inability to hit her!

It must've been his exhaustion or her skill or some mixture thereof, but something had tinged each of his attacks. Each strike felt a little sluggish, as if there was some sort of resistance pulling at it. A swing went a little too wide, or a little too slow, to connect. She'd react accordingly, as if she already knew where it'd end up. He could feel the fiery adrenaline running through his blood, but it must not have been doing enough to keep him awake and alert. Maybe things would've been more even if only Crocea Mors hadn't decided to become unwieldly.

He couldn't keep this up. Things needed to be equalized. The Wasteland had taught him that, when skill and resourcefulness failed, a little dose of insanity could always work well. If he had aura, then why not use it?

Pyrrha shifted back to her sword and shield to press in close once more, and he crafted a plan.

The next time Pyrrha came in for a stab, he didn't block. All of his instincts screamed at him for the stupidity of letting a fatal blow through, but he let it through nonetheless. He feigned surprise with a gasp and wide eyes. It probably wouldn't win him any acting awards, but it could fool someone in an intense situation. Pyrrha stepped in to drive through with the attack. She did.

Aura or not, it hurt. _A lot_.

He clenched his teeth through the pain of the direct strike that speared straight into his ribs, but he didn't waste a moment reaching out and locking her arm in under his. When he'd left that opening for her to 'exploit' he'd positioned himself just right to grab hold of her. Sure, he'd had to suffer a brutal, direct blow, but she'd have gotten that in soon enough anyhow.

He yanked them close, close enough that he could feel her hot breath against his face. He saw the surprise on her face as he tilted them both at an awkward angle, nearly off-balance; it would've been a strange and fruitless situation for both of them, little more than a grappling stalemate since neither were really able to Move. But he had Crocea Mors, which didn't require him to put any force behind it to be deadly. He pressed the edge of Crocea Mors into her midriff.

The air of the battle hall was filled with a brutal squeal that sounded like a dying animal, combined with the ever-present dull roar of the ripper itself. Pyrrha thrashed and struggled, but he kept a tight grip and made sure Crocea Mors was held against her. Her aura flashed incessantly as each individual sawtooth cut into it. He kept her sword-arm pinned and ducked so that she wasn't able to crack him hard in the head with her shield.

He had her! For a few seconds, he continued to saw into her, and although she kept squirming and was likely to pry loose soon enough, he could deal enough damage to—

Crocea Mors seemed to become engulfed in a dark shadow, before hurtling back off of Pyrrha and up into his own face. It was a strange feeling, having dozens of little teeth jam into and claw against your skin. Thanks to his aura, his face wasn't ripped in half.

Both the surprise and the strength behind the hit sent him reeling back, and Pyrrha capitalized. She smashed her shield into his face to prolong his daze and got to delivering several brutal slices all across his torso. Then she spun and delivered a backwards spin-kick to his face, sending him falling back.

He crashed to the floor and doggedly rolled and rose again, brandishing his sword in front of him, but Pyrrha had thrown her shield in a wide arc around his peripheral vision. He didn't even see it as it cracked into the side of his head, right against his temple.

He tripped and stumbled to the side as she advanced, barely able to haphazardly block _some_ of her strikes.

What the Hell had happened!? Her hands hadn't been anywhere near Crocea Mors, which now felt somehow even _more_ heavy and unwieldly. He was barely able to block her attacks, let alone launch any of his own.

She furiously cut his sword aside, then did a backflip, sending one of her feet straight into his chin in a backwards axe-kick. He was launched away, falling flat on his ass _again_.

He was hardly able to rise. As he did, he clumsily slashed Crocea Mors horizontally in front of him, hoping to delay Pyrrha's onslaught long enough for him to get a sense of things.

However, Pyrrha hadn't even come close to him. If anything, she'd stepped back. Her spear was fully extended again, and she'd reared it back like a javelin. She pivoted her hips and flicked a switch so that the butt-end of her spear fired off a shot. Once more, the combined momentum of her own bodily movement and the gunshot sent the spear careening towards him. Towards his face, to be more specific. A vicious, complete finishing move.

Blinding pain cut through his head as it impacted against his forehead and he was sent twirling through the air. The floor became the roof and the roof became and the floor and so and so forth as he spun for what felt like a dozen times before slapping limply to the ground.

"Match over! Pyrrha Nikos is the victor!" Miss Goodwitch called.

He groaned. If he thought his headache had been bad before, then now it was downright _killer_.

He struggled on the floor for a few seconds more. He heard the heels of both Pyrrha and Goodwitch clicking on the stage as they each neared him. In all the other fights he'd seen, if one partner had been left on the floor, then the other would come to help pick them up. Pyrrha did no such thing. He hadn't expected her to. He wouldn't have accepted even if she had.

Instead, he forced himself up onto his feet. It was only then that he noticed the applause. He looked around at the crowd around the stage. They were all clapping loudly, and some were even cheering. Huh, guess they liked the free show of a champion going to town.

He looked at the scoreboard and scowled. He'd been left well in the red by Pyrrha's brutal final onslaught, while she'd barely fallen into the yellow. It looked like he had a while to go yet, before he'd mastered this world's peculiar fighting.

Miss Goodwitch gave out some advice that he didn't hear, too focused on the pulsing pain in his skull. He'd need to ask her on it later. At that moment he just wanted to get away from this place, to get back to the Beacon gardens.

The bell rang, and class was dismissed. The other students quickly left, his team the quickest amongst them. Nora excitedly congratulated Pyrrha in her usual over-blown manner, while Ren politely nodded to the side. None of them spared a glance in his direction as they left.

He definitely looked at Pyrrha, though. It was a good fight, he'd give her that. She deserved respect for her obvious prowess. The only thing he didn't get was what the Hell happened at the end there? All of the sudden, Crocea Mors had just flung back into his face and then he wasn't even able to swing it right. Maybe it had something to do with her semblance? Or maybe he was just too damn tired to perceive things correctly? Ugh, whatever the case, he'd have to use this as an experience to learn from so that he got as good as possible and left as soon as possible.

He headed off of the stage and towards the locker rooms where he'd changed and left his belongings. On the way, he begrudgingly tolerated a few thumbs-ups and impressed nods from some other students, undoubtedly sufficiently entertained by his little display. Thank God none tried to touch him. Well, none except one.

"You did awesome!" Ruby shouted as she dashed up to him. She playfully punched him in the arm, setting his nerves on fire. She was too happy to notice how he took a few extra steps away, though. "Seriously, that was really cool! You were all like _hah!_ And she was all like _heh!_ " Ruby acted out each exclamation with a punch or karate-chop.

She was just too damn cute...

He shuffled uncomfortably. It felt like some little piece of his chest had suddenly gone missing in the presence of her display. As ever, she was innocent and friendly and kind in a way that was downright oppressive.

Her sparkling eyes came up to meet his. He didn't look away. "Here, give me five!" She said. She raised her hand in the air.

He looked at it for a second. It'd be so easy to leave her hanging. That'd drive a point across, wouldn't it? If he really wanted her to leave him alone, then he could dismiss her right here and now. He looked back at her face, dominated by that pretty smile. He could put her down right now, cruelly, just as he had Pyrrha...

He brought a hand up and slapped it against hers, completing the high-five.

Ruby laughed and smiled. "So, you wanna go to the armory some time and work on your pistol? I bet it could've come in handy this fight!"

He was about to open his mouth to curtly decline once more, before her point sunk in. The fight would've been different if he'd had the Mysterious Magnum.

He bit at the inside of his cheek. He felt... _bad_ around her. Well, he thought he felt bad. He felt something, something strange and unfamiliar that certainly didn't make him feel _good_. He felt unfulfilled, like there should be something more. There was just a bizarre empty feeling he got that he didn't quite like. It was as if she took something out of him.

Or maybe she just reminded him that there was something missing in the first place.

 _They were a lot alike... they'd have been good friends_...

He winced. And there went Bishop again.

He looked back down at her. Those pretty silver eyes sparkled, filled with hope fueled by his hesitation, hope that he'd say yes this time.

Something contracted in his stomach, and that feeling sent his teetering decision plummeting over the edge. "Sure," he said.

"Awesome!" Ruby said, she excitedly clapped her hands. "We can meet up tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay."

She flashed him another smile and left him behind with only a cloud of rose petals and... was that the scent of strawberry?

He caught one of the petals again and looked at it. Soft and pretty and delicate. Just like her. He brought it up to his nose and experimentally sniffed. Sure enough, he smelled strawberry.

What an interesting girl...

He hated her. He really did. He knew that to be fact, because it's what he kept telling himself. Over and over again, he told himself that he hated her. And he told himself that that she was the cause of that empty feeling he got. She was the cause, and he should hate her and avoid her.

He just had to keep telling himself that.

Nevertheless, he felt a strange anticipation for their next meeting.

* * *

It was late at night when he opened the door to team JNPR's room. Grasshoppers chirped outside and the wind lightly rustled the branches and the drapes. The only light came through the window, from the shattered moon.

The Lone Wanderer entered. The rest of his team were long asleep, and he had no interest in joining them. He'd finally finished working out his nutrition program with the Beacon staff and studying for Oobleck's class.

He took special care in closing the door behind him so that he didn't wake them up, since that would've been rude.

He only came here for something he'd forgotten to bring with him out to his cave. He yawned as he carefully plodded over to his bed, being sure not to make any noise. He slowly lifted up the mattress and felt around underneath it.

A pack of cigarettes. He'd managed to steal two before coming to Beacon, and he'd run out in the first one, forgetting to take the second with him when he moved out. He stuffed it into his pocket and turned away, though he looked somewhat longingly at his bed. It sure was a lot more comfortable than the cave floor...

His glare shot over to his team. But they'd certainly—

He was stopped in his thought. His glare softened into something much less combative as he looked at Nora. He didn't know how he hadn't noticed when he came, probably just because he'd actively avoided looking at them. Nora was writhing about under her blankets. Her brow was furrowed, a frown was set on her face, which was covered by a sheen of sweat. She even let out a slight whimper.

She was having a nightmare.

His stomach fell. Instantly, images of the concerned expression she'd shared for him echoed in his mind, how she'd been worried when he woke from the other day's awful nightmare. He glanced at the door. He looked back to her. He chewed at the inside of his cheek. Eventually, he sighed and started to cautiously walk over. Her bed was on the opposite side of the room from him, next to Ren's. As such, he had to walk first past Pyrrha and then Ren before reaching her. One particular step let out a high-pitched squeal from the floorboards.

Ren shuffled slightly under the covers, but aside from that, he seemed successful in his sneaking.

"Hey, hey it's okay..." he gently crooned as he crept near her. An awful sense of powerlessness fell upon him. "It's alright..." He crouched beside her bed. He reached one hand out, but hesitated. What could he do? He knew from experience that being woken up from a nightmare didn't really do any good, since he'd just have more later. It was no solution to the problem. Still, there had to be _something_ he could do... wait, what's that?

One of her hands was twitching, the fingers bending open and closed, as if she was grasping for something, something that wasn't there. His eyes flickered down to the floor.

A hammer. A little toy hammer made of wood, a stark contrast to her usual weapon. It was lying on the floor beside her bed. He looked at it, then back at her. Could this...?

He reached down and took hold of it. He brought it up and gently set into her grasping hand, which immediately closed around it with practiced familiarity. It looked like color drained from Nora's face as she took a firm hold of the little mallet. She slowly stopped writhing, settling into stillness. Her previously erratic breath slowed into a steady rhythm. She fell into rest.

The edges of his lips curled upwards ever so slightly. It felt nice to be able to do little things like this, so long as no one was looking. He couldn't have people see him like this, since then they'd get the wrong impression of who he was. He wasn't the kind of person to perform little niceties; he wasn't the kind of person anyone should get attached to; he wasn't a good person.

He was the Lone Wanderer. He wasn't nice... he hurt people.

He rose up and away from her. He glanced away from her to look at the other two members of his team as well.

"I don't like hurting people," he told them.

Predictably, they didn't respond.

"It's just... what I've always had to do. Ever since I was selected as a guard on the GOAT, that's what I've been supposed to do." A long time ago, he would've framed it as helping people. He once would've said that he protected people from the bad guys. Maybe... maybe that's what he actually used to do.

He sighed.

"It's not what I do anymore..."

He looked individually at each one. He hadn't yet spoken to Ren, not even to just be rude. He'd been mean to Nora. He'd been awful to Pyrrha. His eyes lingered on his partner as the frown on his face, though that wasn't because of her.

"I didn't like hurting any of you, especially since you seem like pretty nice people." He hadn't known that, of course. He still didn't, though literally nothing they'd done had ever suggested they were bad people. Much of his initial paranoia and viciousness upon coming to Vale and Beacon had been largely due to the situation. He was in a totally alien place, surrounded by more people than he'd ever dreamed of seeing, faced with having to get a new team.

He thought back to the good old days, laughing and fighting and living with John and Jane and Fawkes and Dogmeat. Those were good times. He looked at the three of them.

"It looks like you're all having good times without me. That's nice." He uncomfortably shuffled on his feet. "I'm glad I haven't held you back." He chewed on the inside of his cheek. "I wouldn't have done any of you any good, pretending to be your friend. Things are better this way, right?"

They breathed lightly.

"It actually feels kinda good to finally talk to you all." He kept gnawing on his cheek. "You don't seem like bad people, really. I just can't have a new team, or friends or anything like that, since it's not how I live my life." He let out a long, melancholy breath. "I'm just not supposed to."

Life had told him that.

His eyes slid over to Pyrrha, the girl who he'd made so upset when he ruthlessly cut down her attempts at being his friend. He bit down harder on his cheek.

"Maybe I should say sorry, huh? I... I can never _actually_ tell you that, but I guess I can tell you now, right?" He brought up both his hands and slowly massaged his eyes, which felt incredibly tired and heavy. "Well... sorry."

Ren was motionless. Nora snored lightly. Pyrrha shifted slightly under her covers.

"Man, it's really easy to talk to people when they can't hear you or talk back..." He looked at them all. "It's just that, I couldn't trust you then, and I can't trust you now. That's why I was mean, because you could've been dangerous, you still can be... that's why..."

He believed that. He definitely, completely, totally believed that. Certainly.

It was true enough, since he _did_ have a terrible, prickly feeling whenever someone he didn't know came near him, or touched him, or walked behind him, or spoke to him, or... well, a lot of things. That really didn't justify, or even explain, why he'd been more dismissive and cruel to them in particular, whereas he was usually just aloof towards others.

 _Just keep living this hollow 'life' of yours, just keeping pushing people away, since Lord knows you'd never be able to keep them safe._

God damn Bishop! He shook his head angrily. That bastard, couldn't he just stay in the grave? Or at the very least, couldn't' he just stay in the nightmares?

Anger slowly faded into a hollow, saturnine sensation he looked back at his team. He sighed.

"Alright then... goodnight."

He turned around and walked toward the door. He stopped, however, to turn and spare one last look at Nora. Her face was soft; her breathing, peaceful. Any hint that she'd been having a nightmare had disappeared. That was nice.

He turned away and headed back for the door, before stopping again. He looked back at Nora, then back over at his own bed. It really would be more comfortable to sleep here, wouldn't it? And maybe, if he slept here, then someone would be able to do to him what he'd done for Nora, magically fix his nightmare problem. Or, much more realistically, if he ever woke up from another nightmare like he had before, then they'd all be there. They'd be there and they could spare him those concerning looks he'd been given before. He couldn't get that if he were out in the cave...

He shook his head. Ridiculous! A ridiculous thought! There was no way he would stay here for something like that. He didn't even like these people. In fact, he hated them with a passion!

But... it would be safer to stay here than out in the Emerald Forest, wouldn't it? Yeah, they were a threat, but Grimm were too. Was it really any better for him to be out in that cramped cave than right here? The cave... which had felt so incredibly, overwhelmingly lonel—unsafe! It had felt unsafe! There was no other feeling associated with that cave!

He shook his head. Ridiculous. Ridiculous notions... crazy. He pushed through the door and slowly closed it behind him, taking special care not to wake any of them. With a quiet click, it shut, and the room was left in darkness and silence.

A couple seconds later, Lie Ren sat up in bed, fully awake, looking at the door where the Lone Wanderer had just left.

* * *

 **Well, well, well, it looks like someone failed a sneak check.**

 **Alright, so we finally get to see more of the Lone Wanderer being something other than a huge dick, which really isn't what he is at the core. The only problem is that he has an image he believes he must portray in public and tries to keep up, an image of an unapproachable, aloof asshole. So it's hard for the audience to see how he behaves more naturally. And this really isn't OoC, since I've dropped plenty of hints that he doesn't like being mean and even feels guilty for it afterwards. It's just that some people have been talking about how unlikable he is, with good reason. He really isn't the nicest guy to others, so I've portrayed a more legitimate side of him here. The thing is, his current psyche is a mess, filled with doublethink, cognitive dissonance and lies as he subconsciously knows the truth behind his actions even as he consciously tries to suppress that. Even when there's no one else around to try and convince, he feels the need to convince himself.**

 **Aside from that, we get to see just how critical Bishop is to the Wanderer's history. I wanted to create an antagonist who'd be a perfect foil to the protagonist, and Bishop resulted from that prompt. For those wondering, his name is derived from Pierre Cauchon, the Bishop of Beauvais who helped get Joan of Arc executed. His actual character design is inspired by Frank Horrigan of Fallout 2 and Reinhard Heydrich.**

 **A little Ruby action as well. Now that he's finally bit the bullet and decided to go with her some more, expect their interactions to increase.**

 **Anyway, come back this time next week for the next installment. As always, any reviews and/or questions are both appreciated and encouraged.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Okay, the next chapter. A little slower, with more character development and exposition than anything else.**

* * *

The armory was just as utilitarian and uninviting as the first time he'd come there; those traits were drowned out once Ruby Rose appeared

"Alright!" she said, "let's get to it!"

The Lone Wanderer glanced at her. She was just too damn... happy. All the time, happy, happy, happy. How did she manage it?

She met him at the same worktable they'd been at the other day and plopped down onto one of the stools. He took out the Mysterious Magnum and collected the equipment he'd seen Ruby use the last time. He was a swift learner. It hadn't taken him long to recognize some of the tools and even a few of their uses, though several remained utterly foreign to him.

Ruby took her time getting ready. She adjusted herself on her seat and set down a small carton on the worktable. It was pink, with an image of a strawberry on the side, a plastic spoon taped to the top and a thin layer of frost covering it, though that was quickly melting away, leaving dribbles of frigid water. It looked like something from one of Beacon's vending machines.

She pulled off the spoon and peeled back the cover, revealing a pink ice cream with bits of strawberry inside. She started digging into it ravenously, as if it was the first sustenance she'd touched in days.

On one spoonful, however, she noticed him from the corner of her eye. Still with spoon in her mouth, she started talking. "Oh I'm sorr-" she mumbled, before finding the wisdom in taking the spoon out of her mouth to continue, "I'm sorry, did you want some?" She held out the carton to him.

He'd never had ice cream before. Everything back in the vault had been grown through the labs and greenhouses, no room for such things as superfluous as sweets. There were only a few concessions made for morale, such as Nuka-Cola or sweet cakes.

It was tempting, but he didn't come here just to play around and eat ice cream.

"Sure," he said. Come on, he'd been through a lot, so he deserved the occasional treat. He took the spoon from her and got a small piece of the dairy delight for himself. Putting it in his mouth, it instantly melted, excreting a sweet strawberry taste. He wanted more of it.

Enough was enough, however, and he handed it back to Ruby. Maybe he could go to the vending machine himself sometime, though that would require money. He seriously doubted that anything would accept the few bottle caps that he had left.

"Alright, let's get to it," he said.

Ruby nodded and tilted back the carton of ice-cream, pouring it all into her mouth at once. She gulped and smiled, savoring the taste, before her eyes snapped wide open. She grabbed either side of her head and started to groan. "Oh no, brain freeze... gahhh..."

The Lone Wanderer looked at her, snorting in mild amusement as she continued to groan at her headache.

Ruby eventually shook off her desert-induced ailment and helped him get to work. She knew of a good way to upgrade the Mysterious Magnum so it could fire the normal variant of dust rounds without quickly wearing out and becoming useless. Apparently, there was a coating applied to the inside of weapons that was a mixture of various metallic compounds and, of course, dust itself, that would protect against the residual emissions from the bullets.

So they got to it.

Mostly, things involved the Lone Wanderer supporting Ruby as she worked, as this was her domain. Sure, he knew all about every gun from hulking, monstrous gatling lasers to the dinky little chinese pistols, but that was back on Earth. Ruby had spent just about her entire life becoming an expert on Remnant's weapons and their necessary tools. So he watched and listened as she worked and explained what she was doing, holding tools and adjusting things for her according to her commands.

It wasn't bad. Her determination and focus was dead-set and admirable, but not uninviting in its intensity. Truly, he had no idea how _anything_ about the girl could ever be uninviting. She was just so... pure—pure and nice and kind.

He looked at her. She was different from most things that he'd ever seen in the wasteland. She possessed a kind of innocence that he only ever saw in children back home. That's why he liked kids so much—they were just downright pleasant. Even in how infuriating and awful they could be, it was in a manner wholly distinct from the types of truly horrible that he saw in bandits and the Enclave. Even at their worst, those little kids were the best. They possessed something he'd long lost. Something that he treasured ever since its absence was forced upon him, something that he protected and tried to foster.

They had innocence.

Ruby, however, seemed special. Children's innocence steadily erode as they age, a brutal fact made abruptly assertive in a place as brutal as the wasteland. It looked like Ruby had undergone the opposite process. Her purity strengthened and been distilled, imbued within her very personality, such that it clung to her every movement. The way she smiled at everyone, how she was always kind, if not necessarily, down to the way she lackadaisically swung her arms while walking. The Lone Wanderer had hardly known her for a week, but she wore her true character on her sleeve, and it shone like diamond.

"Uhh, Jaune?"

Oh great, he'd drifted off again... while staring at her. Why did he always have the habit of being lost in thought? In fact, he seemed to get lost in thought a lot when he was around her.

"Oh, sorry, just tired." That may have been the truth, for all he knew. He definitely _was_ tired, since his sleep had still barely recovered. It wasn't something he was unused to, sleep exhaustion, and this honestly wasn't the worst he'd ever had to go through. Still, that didn't make it a pleasant experience.

"Yeah, you really need to get more sleep. You always look exhausted," Ruby said. Her voice took on a softer note, and her lips curled into a frown as she observed the dark bags under his blood shot eyes. Well, his right eye was always bloodshot, but even the sapphire in his left had been surrounded by a creeping redness.

"I'll try," he said. Maybe he actually would. Then it may assuage her concern. He didn't exactly like the look of that frown on her face.

"You promise?"

"Promise."

She grinned again.

There you go.

They got back to work after that, carefully pulling apart his pistol. The Lone Wanderer kept everything steady and in check as she laboriously applied the coating. While focusing, she stuck out the tip of her tongue from the side of her mouth.

Heh, cute.

Things continued like that for a while, with Ruby cautiously working with his assistance. An hour ticked by with hardly a word between the two, but again, it was that comfortable sort of silence that he held in such high regard. They were at work on something that she wanted to do and liked doing and something he needed to do and found interest in doing, each resigned with satisfaction to the situation.

That is, until they took a break.

"I just need to let my hands rest," Ruby said. "They get pretty cramped from doing this for too long."

The Wanderer nodded, but was faced with the dilemma of what to do. Ruby began massaging her hands, working her fingertips into her palms and around her fingers, which she pulled on at different angles to produce a series of surprisingly loud cracks. After that, she absentmindedly rubbed them together.

Their comfortable silence quickly rotted and faded away, replaced by something tense and expecting now that they were unencumbered by the mutual interest. The Wanderer started chewing on his cheek, while Ruby's ministration became a bit more nervous.

Now there they were, a shy and socially awkward girl and an outright antisocial boy. Who would be the first to break the ice?

It certainly wouldn't be him. He had no desire to talk to her.

The Lone Wanderer felt several forces within him. He felt that damnable hollowness in his chest, which was an infuriating byproduct of her presence. He also felt something prickly under his skin that crawled about at the prospect of having to talk to someone. Yet past that as well, there was a kind of anti-apprehension that compelled him to speak.

"Sooo," he said. The word slipped from the Wanderer's mouth in a slow drawl.

"Sooo," Ruby replied.

Damn, weren't they a pair of brilliant orators.

"You said you like comics and stuff, right?" Ruby asked, struggling to establish some common ground.

"I do, though it's been a while." It was easier to talk now, now that the conversation was a world away from what they'd been discussing before, away from subjects like teams and leadership. "I haven't read anything or played any games in... months."

"Wow, I can't go more than a day without that stuff," Ruby said with an airy chuckle. She rubbed the back of her head, perhaps embarrassed at the disparity between them.

"Though it's just because I've been out in the field, haven't really had a lot access to that stuff," he said.

"Ahh, yeah that makes sense. There was a nice little store back on Patch that always sold games and comics and stuff like that, and I'd spend most of my allowance there." She sheepishly chuckled and glanced away. "I still spend a lot of my allowance on a store I found here in Vale."

"Sounds nice, we just had one big library of comics and games. It was all free, but reading the same thing a hundred times over isn't exactly the best." The Lone Wanderer sighed. What else could he have done? It's not like anyone in the vault was writing and printing new comics and programming new games. "Though Grognak will always be fun."

"Grognak?"

Shit. Everything was different here, and he kept forgetting that. Tiny miss-steps like may be innocuous, but larger ones would add up and present a picture of him that was strange, perhaps intolerable to people who'd been raised a world apart. Then again, he didn't think Ruby would ever have a problem tolerating him.

"It's just a local comic from where I come from. You wouldn't know about it." He dismissed the subject with a wave of his hands. "But it was still my favorite."

"Sounds cool, what was it about?" Ruby asked. She shifted in her seat, propping her elbows on the table and letting her chin rest on her hands, so that she could easily continue looking at him, giving him all of her attention as if he was the only thing in the world. It was how she talked to everyone, a legitimate interest in what they had to say.

Her blatant attention made him shift awkwardly in his seat and he bit down ever so slightly harder on his cheek. Nevertheless, he continued. "Grognak the Barbarian, an incredible warrior from a foreign land who traverses the world in search of wealth, women and adventure. Join him as he battles monsters and villains of all shapes and sizes." The Lone Wanderer shrugged. "That's the exact description on every comic. Like I said, I read them all a lot."

Just a second later, his eyes widened. Oh Hell. He'd just completely nerded out, hadn't he? He hadn't done that in a long time, not having the ability to do so with no one to talk to. Butch had always pushed him around for his over-interest in comics, and even Sarah and the others in the Brotherhood had teased him about how addicted he'd been to all the new copies of Grognak he found in the wastes. Gah, looks like old habits die hard—

"Hah, that's awesome!" Ruby exclaimed. "That's the same with me! My favorite comic is X-Ray and Vav, they want to be the greatest superheroes ever, but they're the last people you want to be saved by. Join them as they battle forces as sinister as the Mad King and as aloof as Mogar!" Ruby leaned back and giggled. "That's the description on every copy of X-Ray and Vav... I've read every issue... twice... maybe three times... or four..."

"Well I've read every Grognak issue at least ten-times, so I think I've got you beat."

"Pffft, that's just because it's all you had! I've read 'Camp-Camp' and 'Yellow vs. Purple' too. And who can forget the legendary Peef Rimgar of 'Worms'?" She stuck out her tongue. "I'm more _worldly_ than you, Jaune!"

He'd never met someone before that he could geek out with. Amata had been his only good friend growing up in the vault, and she wasn't one for comics or the like. He felt that strange sensation in his face, one he had to bite down lest his lips curl upwards.

Ruby leaned back on her stool and brought her tongue back in her mouth, reverting to that regular smile, instead. "And what games have you played?" she asked.

"Oh, just the few that were made by Hubris," he replied. He winced after seeing the confused look on her face and recognizing that he'd slipped up and against referenced something that didn't exist in Remnant. "Hubris was a company that made games, made the Grognak comics, too. I played a few Grognak games and some of their wizard adventure games, and they were okay." He shrugged. "Just nothing special. I always liked comics more." It was better to look at colored comic pages than a black screen with some writing on it, after all.

"Oh, I always liked the fighting games, then I could play them with Yang. It was like our sisterly bonding growing up. I also played a lot with my uncle whenever he was around," she said.

Fighting games? That sounded intriguing, though not as much as the latter part. Sister... that was still strange to him. Yang was taller and... larger... than Ruby was. Not to mention their eye color, hair color and bodily structure were different as well. Bodily structure... larger...

He shook his head. Damn hormones. Damn Yang Xiao-Long. Wait... Xiao-Long?

"Are you adopted?" he asked.

Ruby started back in confusion, and he mentally cursed himself just after. Great, he'd let his curiosity bypass his filter and go straight to his mouth. He just couldn't help the interest, and Ruby's presence cast a strange sense of security that made him feel like he could speak his mind. He immediately had to explain.

"It's just that you mentioned your sister, and that made me think about her and how you two don't look anything alike or even have the same last names, right?"

Understanding dawned on Ruby's face, and the confused look was replaced her normal genial one. "Nope," she said, "we just have different moms, same Dad though."

Well, that was interesting. Both the answer and her response. He'd suspected her to be less forthcoming about something so personal, but maybe that was just his wasteland experience tinting his view of things.

"Yeah, Yang's mom left and my mom—"

The words got stuck in Ruby's throat. It seemed that her speech had momentarily outpaced her thought, which had now caught up. A gloomy expression fell onto her face. She looked away from him. Absentmindedly, she fidgeted with the hem of her hood.

The Lone Wanderer wasn't an expert in human interaction, not by far. Even he, however, could tell that something was wrong here. Something was wrong, and the wrongdoing had been prompted by his question. That thought made him uncomfortable.

"Well, she died a few years ago when I was little," Ruby said with a weak shrug. She adopted a smile on her face, though it wasn't at all natural. The Wanderer wasn't an expert, but he had a good idea that she was smiling only for him.

Well... Damn.

Ruby looked away and started to tinker with the Mysterious Magnum again, leaving their conversation behind. That was great. Excellent, actually. Work before talking. He didn't care about her, so it didn't matter to him if there was some kind of lingering sense of melancholy within her, left over from their talk. No. He didn't care at all. Not one bit. Just achieve the mission. Just get to work.

He drummed his fingers against the worktable. He... should really say something. Just because, you know, she won't come back to hang out more if she left feeling bad because of him. And he only wanted to hang out with her because she was useful, nothing besides.

He definitely wasn't reminded of his own dead mom, and he _absolutely_ wasn't affected by the sad turn to her figure.

So yeah, he'd say something to make her feel better, if only because of her use. He didn't really _care_ if she belt better or not. After all, he hated her. He hated her with a passion.

That's what he kept telling himself, so that's what he'd keep believing.

Alright, say something. Say something... right... something. Damn, what should he say? Uhhh... well, misery loves company, right? Yeah, give her some company.

"My mom died giving birth to me," he said.

Ruby stopped working, then turned her head to look back at him. The expression on her face was... an expression.

A brittle silence fell between them.

He gulped. Fantastic, absolutely fantastic. Great job there, buddy, a regular Shakespear. Man, you should really teach a class or something, because everyone on Earth and Remnant alike is probably begging to have your skills.

"Uhh... just wanted to... commiserate?" he said. That was a word, right? He was pretty sure 'commiserate' was a word, but was it the right word? Yeah, probably the right word... but did they even have that word here on Remnant? Was he being weird again? Well no shit Sherlock, of course you're being weird, you just started randomly bringing up dead moms!

"Well, just, you know... I get that it sucks... and you probably don't want to talk about it..."

Oh God, he really couldn't salvage this, could he? Christ, why the Hell did he have such problems putting together decent sentences? And—wait... is she smiling?

Sure enough, Ruby's lips had turned up into something resembling that familiar grin. It was still tinged with a trace of sadness, but it was there nonetheless. "Thanks," she said, "that's really nice of you."

Huh? It was?

"Umm... okay," he said.

Ruby giggled at his confused expression. "It's just nice of you to try and make me feel better... and now I do!" Ruby spread her arms out flashed herself triumphantly, as if to put her good mood on display. It only partly succeeded, since she still seemed to a little off, but it was a start. She sighed as she let her arms back down and sunk into her seat, that pretty little smile settling more naturally onto her face. "Yeah... it's okay, it happened a long time ago."

She shifted and let her elbows rest on the workbench, again propping up her head with her hands. This time, however, she chose to look into the distance instead of at him, as she recounted her story.

"I don't really remember a lot about her, since I was still pretty young when it happened. I... didn't really understand it back then. But it still really sucked." She sighed and leaned back, staring wistfully up into the ceiling in a way that was all too familiar to the Wanderer. "She'd bake cookies and read bedtime stories and throw awesome birthday parties... it was nice." A saturnine smile crept onto her face. "But I was little, and I've had a long time to adjust."

Ruby looked away from the roof and back to him.

Oh, was that a cue? That was a cue, wasn't it? Should probably answer.

"Well, I never knew my mom. Like I said, she died when I was born. All I know is what my dad told me: she was strong and vibrant and smart and wanted to help people."

Ruby's smile widened. "Sounds a lot like my mom," she said. "She was a huntress, what about yours?"

"Mine was a scientist. She worked with my dad on big charitable projects to help make people's lives better."

"That sounds nice," Ruby said. Her smile brightened. "Yeah, and even after she died, I still had my dad!"

The Wanderer's fists clenched so hard they trembled.

"Yeah, my dad's pretty great. He's a hunter too, and he teaches at Signal. He had a really hard time after mom died, but he's all better now." She closed her eyes and her smile brightened, even as the Wanderer settled deeper into a gloom. Her own joy now only had the effect of pushing him down further. "Yeah, dad's great. It's really nice to have him still around, since he still does so much for me. What about yours...?"

Her words trailed of as she turned to look him. His face was stoic and carved from granite. His shoulders were as rigid and straight as a bar of forged steel.

"Uhm, are you okay Jaune?" Her face immediately fell, mouth receding from her smile as her jaw drooped down. A spark of concern glimmered in her eyes and radiated through her expression and her posture.

The sight of it calmed him.

"My dad died a little less than a year ago," he said frankly. There was no point in hiding the truth from Ruby, not after they'd been so honest thus far. It would've felt wrong to lie to her about this, especially after she so willingly forgave his own transgression and shared her story.

Ruby's eyes widened, her jaw dropped. "Oh my goodness, I'm _so_ sorry."

He believed her. In fact, a kind of understanding fell upon him in that moment. He hadn't understood just before, when she'd so easily been helped by his own horrible attempt at comforting her. He hadn't said anything special. Here, she hadn't exactly said anything special either, but it was the way she said it. She leaned in, clasped her hands together and looked him straight in the eye, as if, through that action, she could telepathically transmit her wish for him to feel better right into his brain and force it to comply.

It was that wish in of itself, her desire for him to be well, an honest and kind desire, that made him soften. The simple act of another human being's care was sometimes enough, especially for someone long starved of it.

"It's fine," he said, "You didn't know."

Despite his slight recovery, he still wasn't okay and he did such a poor job of hiding it that Ruby wasn't fooled for a moment.

"Well, at least you must have some other family, right? Like, I've got Yang and my uncle."

"My dad was the only family I've ever had."

"Oh... well at least you have some friends, right?"

"I _literally_ don't have a single friend on all of Remnant."

"Uhh, I've got a dog, didn't you have any pets?"

"My dog died."

Ruby's face... it looked like she'd just seen a kitten be murdered. "Wow... that's, uhm..." She fidgeted in her seat tapping the ends of her fingers together in thought. "I... well, you've got me, don't you?" She looked up to him and smiled with that.

He felt something in his chest. It was the presence of... something. It was something, definitely something. What that thing was, exactly, he had no idea. Wait... he felt heavier. Heavier in a good way. That... that empty sensation... where had it gone? Had it been filled?

It had.

"WellthatsniceIthinkweshouldendthingshere," he blurted out. The words were so quick and mashed together that they came out in a hardly coherent blur of sound. He leaned over the worktable and scrambled to pick up all of his materials from the Mysterious Magnum, which had now recovered from the first round of applying the dust-proof coating.

"Wait, what? No, don't go! I said I'm sorry!" Ruby reached out towards him in a panic, but he dodged her touch, stuffed the magnum back in his holster and quickly walked away.

"It's fine," he said, words sharp and fast. "I just... need to get to the career center, yeah. Looking for a job, can't forget that. Need that. You go and do something else, since we're done here now."

He sped out of the armory, and although Ruby could've easily kept pace, what with her semblance and all, she didn't follow. Thank God. What the Hell was it with this girl, that both times they'd hung out together had resulted in him stomping away, flustered?

He touched a hand to his chest. Already, that sensation of completeness was fading away as he left her behind. It wasn't something he was used to, not since the Battle of Adams Air Force Base had he felt that.

Images of Dogmeat, of John and Jane and Fawkes, of Moira and Sarah, of Sonora and Three Dog, of his father, all cut in his mind. He reached up and began to massage each temple with his fingertips, but he had no hope of assuaging the coming headache.

He should stop seeing her. Really, this wasn't worth it. Besides, now that he had a basic grasp of things, he could do it himself. Even then, there were instructors available at the armory for consultation whenever necessary.

He didn't need Ruby Rose.

Well... he should still see her.

Wait, why?

Well, because I want to...

What!?

Hey, she's... you know, an expert. Yeah, she's a weapons expert who's more willing to dedicate her time, more able to, than some instructor there, who may only be doing it because it's their job or would have to balance their attention with other students.

Huh... that's a good point...

It is. That's the only reason I should keep seeing her.

Yup, the only one.

Of course, just one.

Of course...

Yeah, he'd swing by the career center now, since he really _did_ need to look into getting a job. After all, if he was going to abandoning this place and hitting the road, then he'd need to have the funds necessary to survive, at least until he was able to start gathering some from his travels as he had back in the wasteland.

He'd talk with Ruby later, arrange a new meeting between the two of them. And he'd be able to see that nice look in her eyes, feel her attention... and of course, that was just something he'd have to tolerate while working on his weapons.

There really was something about her.

It was something that made him hate her, absolutely.

"I hate her... with all my heart," he told himself. And everything he told himself had to be true, right?

* * *

Ruby Rose bit her lip.

She was torn between doing something and doing nothing.

It was about Jaune, of course. She'd really messed up, hadn't she?

She absentmindedly stalked through Beacon's halls, not wanting to go by her team to think, and certainly not wanting to tell them about her particular predicament. Jaune had spoken to her in confidence, after all. She wasn't about to betray his trust by telling everyone else about his personal past.

Now what was she to do? She'd only wanted to make him feel better by bringing up what she figured would be a mutual experience in having their dads around, but that had failed. Then she figured that he had to have some siblings like her, or some other family like Qrow. Nuh-uh. Well, he had to have had some friends, right?

Apparently not.

She sighed and leaned up against the wall. Great job, Ruby Rose, great job. You pretty much just rubbed it in his face that you still have all sorts of things that he doesn't, fantastic. You were bonding for a bit there, telling each other about your moms, but then you just _had_ to go and slap him with everything else, huh?

She covered her face with her hands, trying to block her shame from the world. He must feel awful, terrible. And it was all her fault. Just that thought alone, that she'd caused her first friend here grief like that, was enough to put a sick, heavy feeling in her stomach, like someone had punched her in the gut _hard,_ and the bruise was still forming.

She let her hands fall down, then started to nervously press them together as she thought.

"Hey Ruby, how ya doing?"

Oh great, Yang.

Yang and Blake, actually. Weiss had told her she was going to spend the day studying while she was off in the armory with Jaune, while Yang and Blake said they were going to swing by the gym. A sheen of sweat covered the two girls, still dressed in their gym uniforms. They must've just finished and were now headed back to the room.

Whatever they were doing, Ruby just wanted them to continue on and leave her to her business, so she gave the answer most likely to do that.

"Oh, I'm fine," she said with another sigh and looked away.

"Yeah... sure, I believe that," Yang replied. Darn, her sister always knew how to read her.

Ruby glanced back at the pair. Yang had adopted that same sisterly look of concern that she'd perfected, while Blake remained stoic as ever. However, Blake's amber eyes focused on her with a scrupulous intensity, studying her and no doubt coming to the same conclusion as Yang, likely cataloguing the information for future use. Blake had a habit of doing that, of observing things with eerie attention, and although Ruby had been getting used to it, the girl's scrutiny was still a little off-putting at times.

"I just... I dunno, I need to do something," Ruby eventually answered. It would be fruitless to try and get anything past Yang. She clasped her hands behind her back and looked down at her feet, wondering just how much she could say.

Yang had been super social back in Signal, and while Blake was certainly reclusive, she was probably still cerebral enough to offer good advice. She'd just need to make sure his secrets were kept safe.

"Okay, so I've got this friend, and we were talking—"

"Is this about Jaune?" Yang asked.

"Whuh? No, I mean it's just about a friend..."

"You're only friend outside of the team is Jaune, and you said you were going to spend time with him today," Blake said.

Ruby's face became flustered. Great, great job holding secrets, kiddo! She stammered out a frustrated reply. "Okay, maybe it is, but whatever, that doesn't matter. My _friend_ , my nondescript, unspecified _friend_ who could be anybody... well, I hurt them with something I said."

"What!?" Yang's eyes went wide. "What do you mean? It's not like you to do that."

That feeling in Ruby's stomach became even heavier. "Well, I didn't mean to. I just brought up some stuff that I didn't know they had a bad history with, and he got freaked out. I even tried to comfort him—them, but it didn't work. He—er, they, just ran off."

Ruby's shoulders slumped as she sighed once more. "I dunno, I feel like I should go and say something, try and say sorry again... but maybe the best thing to do is let it blow over?" She shrugged. "I don't really know..."

"Well, don't apologize, for starters." Both sisters were surprised to see that Blake was the first to answer. "If you really didn't mean anything by it, and he's decent enough to understand that, then an apology is hollow, meaningless. It won't help anything." Straight, decisive, logical. So like Blake, and like Weiss, too, who Ruby could easily imagine nodding approvingly at the advice.

"Well... that's a little harsh, but yeah. I don't think saying sorry is the best way to go here, sis." Now Yang was taking a crack at things, and she stepped forward to settle a comforting hand on Ruby's shoulder. "But you shouldn't just leave things to 'blow over' either. If there's a problem, then ignoring it won't make it go away." Yang looked away as she thought, before turning back again to say, "it's a little hard to explain, but if it really isn't anything personal between the two of you, then you've just got to work past it."

"Work past it?"

"Yeah, don't focus on what you said or did, but treat it like a new situation. Work with the present, not the past. A new approach, you know? Just talk about something else, move past it. Get back to the status quo instead of dwelling on whatever happened. Then, if he ever wants to talk about it again, once he's feeling better, maybe he'll bring it up." Yang dismissively flicked back some of her hair. "But that's not what matters. Just talk about something, anything else instead of drag out the conversation of whatever was making him feel bad in the first place, since it'll just keep making him feel bad. Try to focus on some good things, make him smile, laugh." Yang winked. "You're pretty good at that, after all."

Ruby looked between her sister and Blake. A new approach, huh? Well... there were a _lot_ of things they could still talk about. She really didn't know much about Jaune, since they hadn't spent a lot of time together, just a few hours over the course of a week. She could bring up a conversation about just about anything, bring things back to normal...

She smiled. "Thanks guys, I'll get right to it. Now I just need to find him..."

"He's probably in the gardens," Blake said. "I always cut by there after class to get to the library, and he's always sitting there by the tree. That'd be the best place to look."

"Wow, thanks Blake, I'll go right there! Well... not that I'm talking about Jaune, I mean a lot of people probably stop in the gardens and stuff so I'm not definitely talking about Jaune or anything."

Yang and Blake each looked down at her, not for a moment ceding any belief to her words.

"Oh whatever, I got to go!"

* * *

The Lone Wanderer sat in the Beacon gardens.

It really was something special, the garden. It encapsulated a kind of beauty that he never though he'd be able to experience back in the wasteland. Oasis had scraggly grass, trees and plants that managed to pull off the herculean effort of at least being green, a true accomplishment back home.

The closest he'd ever come to when it came to seeing color like this would have to be the flowers at Arlington Cemetary. Just a couple of random little purple flowers that he'd seen naturally growing among the gravestones.

At the time, the sight had made him cry.

He looked over in the garden, to a bed filled with hundreds of vibrant, violet flowers of all different breeds.

He needed to bring his hands up to rub his eyes, which had started to sting and water at the sight. Honestly... this world was so beautiful. No wonder he'd nearly collapsed when he first saw that forest, almost a month ago.

Every time he came to this place, it unfailingly took his breath away and made his mind go blank, brought him into a kind of peace that could hardly be disrupted. That's why he spent as much time here as he could, just looking at the cherry blossom amidst the flowers.

Things were nice. He'd had enough time now to recover from his most recent spat with Ruby. Honestly, that girl somehow managed to get to him, every time. It wasn't even her mention of his father, friends and family that had sent him running away. He'd long since gotten used to that, and while It hurt to have it mentioned, the pain was now dull and familiar.

No, it was when she said that she'd be there for him... that was what made him leave.

He couldn't have people 'be there' for him. He couldn't have others sticking their necks out in his name, or reaching out to make him feel better. It just wasn't what he was used to.

It wasn't what he wanted. Of that fact, he was certain, and he played deaf to all his internal badgerings that he shouldn't have left her, that he should've stayed and indulged in her comfort. He was the Lone Wanderer; he didn't need that; he didn't deserve that.

"Hey there Jaune..."

Every muscle in his body tensed.

That girl, that damnable, stupid girl, Ruby... God he hated her so much.

"Here, have a seat," he told her, patting the bench beside him.

Uhh... why did you just do that?

Well, because I need to keep her in my good graces, of course.

Oh yes, of course. No other reason?

None.

Of course.

Ruby smiled brightly, relief spilling out of her expression as she came and plopped down next to him. She must've gotten wise as to how sensitive he was about personal space, since she stayed as far on the other side of the bench as she could, just as he'd hoped she would. Nice.

"Sooo..." Ruby said.

Oh God, not this again—

"Where do you come from?"

WHAT!? Panic struck across his face as he leaned away from her. She just asked that out of the blue, what had prompted it? Had he given some clue of his extra-universal upbringing that she was now investigating!?

"Oh snap, did I ask something bad again?" Ruby's face instantly mimicked the panic on his own. "I'm sorry, I just figured I'd change the subject, and I thought about it, and I remembered that I didn't know where you're from, and I thought that could be an okay thing to talk about, and I guess it's not, and I ruined things again, didn't I?"

Ruby clutched her hands together, close to her chest, looking at him expectantly, with a sorry look on her face.

It took him a moment more to process what she'd said. So... had she just been trying to make some innocent conversation? God, this girl... that was fine, then. Man, he really needed to tone down these reactions, since they alone were probably what would make people suspicious of him, more than anything else. And if people got suspicious, they'd ask questions, questions that he could never possibly answer truthfully. With no truth to reply, they'd assume his lies were proof of something nefarious, something worth persecution.

Though he doubted that Ruby could ever do something to him.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

"No I'm fine, just got a little worked up for a second... though why do you ask, exactly?" It never hurt to be certain.

Ruby looked down at her feet rather than meet his gaze, though that was likely the result of her meekness, more than anything else. "Well, I was just thinking about things to talk to you about, and I realized that I don't really know too much about you, so I figured that maybe I could ask you something simple, like where you came from." Her shoulders. "But it looks like I said something dumb again, didn't I?"

Ah Hell, she was sad. He felt something turn in his gut. They were both exceptionally terrible at this whole 'talking' thing, weren't they? Like, they constantly seemed to be putting each other in foul moods. Then again, he wasn't in any other sort of mood very often. Wait, was he the one who kept dragging their talks down?

The thought made his stomach tighten. Did he consistently push her into states of sadness? No, not at all; he'd done the opposite for her back at their last time together in the armory. So if that was the case, surely he could do the same again.

"No, you didn't say anything wrong, not at all. I just thought you meant something else... but no, it's fine."

Her head perked up to look back him.

"It's just... sort of a hard question to answer, is all... things are complicated." That was putting it lightly. "I... grew up in this little town, just raised by my dad. We were really isolationist there, so I never even left until just a year ago."

"Wow, really? That must've sucked." She sat up straighter and gave him her attention in that way she usually did, making the person feel like they were the only thing that existed in the world. It was a nice feeling.

"Yeah, but it was a better place to live than most where I was. In the wasteland—the uh, Vacuo wasteland—things are really inhospitable. For the last year, I was... well, _wandering_ around the wastes, going from place to place before I wound up here."

"What was the wasteland like?" Curiosity and interest now gradually replaced her melancholy. That was good.

"Well, like I said, it was inhospitable. 'Wasteland' pretty self-explanatory. Not much grew, not much lived. A lot of things tried to kill you... monsters of all shapes and sizes..."

"Grimm?" she asked.

"Yeah, Grimm," he lied.

"Wow, that must've been tough."

"Oh yeah."

"And how did you get here?"

He looked away from her. That really had been a big ordeal, hadn't it? He looked up and into the cherry blossom tree, which glowed with a soft, marvelous pink as the sun touched upon the petals. It was a nice color, a far cry from what had brought him here.

The alien device had been a sickly yellow the glared dull. It looked like someone had filled a machine with pus and plugged it in. But the lightning? Oh, that had been pure white.

He remembered the way that it arced through the air, tearing out rents from the walls and floor, making people scream and scatter. Everyone dove for cover. Well, everyone except him. He'd taken advantage of the distraction to surge forward and set himself upon Bishop with Crocea Mors, though that bastard managed to weave Rubrem Mors quickly around, deflecting his strikes and using his own superhuman strength to off-put the might of the Lone Wanderer's power armor.

He still perfectly recalled the words they'd exchanged.

"I'll kill you! I'll drag your corpse back to Rivet City and string it up for everyone to see, but not before I mutilate it!" His words came out strong and gravelly through the power armor's helmet, though not even that could dampen his the tone of unrestrained hatred.

"My, my, harsh words for a knight," Bishop replied, smiling as he deflected another strike, not letting that awful façade down for a moment.

Their swords clashed and locked together, filling the air with sparks, bursts of flame and vicious screeching as fire met sawblade. The Wanderer stepped forwards and pushed against him, sending him stumbling back, off-balance.

He wasn't stupid enough to follow up. He'd seen Bishop pull this trick with a knight back at Adams Air Force Base, letting himself be pushed back before swiping around and striking into one of the power-armor's few joints, killing the man inside. The Lone Wanderer had spent hours upon hours recalling all of his fights with Bishop, to be prepared for this single moment.

Sure enough, Bishop recovered himself easily, brandishing his sword in front of him and yelling back, "come now, fight me like a proper knight!"

The Wanderer snarled and tore off his helmet.

Bishop's eye twitched. His smile drooped ever-so-slightly, though it persisted, as weak and brittle as rust on an ancient hulk.

"I'm no knight, you bastard! I'm the Lone Wanderer! And I'm going to kill you for everything you've done!" He sneered at Bishop, conveying as much of his hate and rage as he possible could.

"Oh my... isn't this an interesting development," Bishop said as he hefted Rubrem Mors in front of him.

The Wanderer set his helmet back on just as Bishop charged forward once more.

"I should've known that you were the Wanderer," Bishop said. "Only a degenerate such as yourself could garner such a reputation!"

Their swords clashed, the two squaring off just in front of a large, box-like container.

Suddenly, a bolt of lightning struck from the alien machine, narrowly missing them and striking the large crate beside them. With a flash of bright light and a strange, squealing roar, the container was ripped apart, with only a smoking crater left within.

More lightning spewed out, one blasting into one of the labs nearby, others striking the walls. The Wanderer didn't care for taking cover from them as he once more pressed against Bishop. His assault was blistering and relentless, and his power armor eked out an edge over Bishop's strength.

Eventually, he pushed his adversary against a table of machinery, sending him toppling back over it. Instead of pursue, however, he took this as an opportunity to back away and put distance between them.

By the time Bishop got back to his feet, now assisted by his right-hand lieutenant, Arthur, the Wanderer was far enough to use one of his trump cards. John had taught him all about them, and now Bishop would know too.

He hurled the mini-nuke grenade at his target that was honestly far too close, but he didn't care. He closed his eyes, lest he be blinded by the blast. For just a moment, he could see nothing but blackness, hear nothing but a burst of deep thunder from a fresh crack of lightning. Then it exploded. Even through his eyelids, through his helmet, he saw the bright flash. He heard the brutally loud explosion, which left his ears ringing. And he sure as Hell felt the shockwave that sent him tumbling away.

It took him a moment to shakily get back to his feet, and when he looked up, there was nothing but a hazy cloud of radioactive dust, fire and debris that was falling back to floor. Bishop and Arthur had been blown apart and vaporized.

A huge smile spread across his face.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw another arc of lightning fly out from the machine, straight for him...

He seriously doubted that he could tell any of that to Ruby.

So instead, he turned back to her and said, "I walked."

"You walked?"

"Yeah. I wound up in Mistral, then took an airship here to attend Beacon."

"Ah, makes sense. Though why'd you choose Beacon over the Vacuo and Mistral academies?"

He shrugged. "It's just where I ended up getting accepted. I guess you could say that I made a good impression on the recruiter."

"Oh yeah, I did the same sorta thing. I impressed Miss Goodwitch and the Headmaster, so they let me in early."

"Really? How'd you do that?" he asked.

Ruby was all too happy to reply, and the two of them continued like that, easily talking, for a while. They fell into a rhythm, simple and casual and enjoyable. After a few minutes, he actually caught himself relaxing again, letting his shoulders fall back, letting his muscles rest. On every prior occasion when this had happened, he'd immediately reversed his state and put himself on guard once more.

But...

Maybe it had something to do with her soft voice, or the kind spark in her eye, or how tired he was, or the garden's tranquility, but he decided against tensing once more. Just this time, he'd let himself relax.

It was nice.

* * *

Lie Ren was uncertain.

He idly walked around the Beacon grounds outside of the school, letting the wet weekend sun wash over him as Nora chatted idly. She was off on another one of her stories about things that didn't happen, happening in places that didn't exist, as usual. And, as usual, he was affording her little actual attention, instead dwelling in his own thoughts.

When he'd arrived at Beacon, he'd honestly had no idea what to expect beyond his usual interactions with Nora.

But he especially hadn't expected Jaune Arc.

They'd been at Beacon for a whole week, and he'd thought he had his team leader figured out.

He was an asshole. An antisocial, mean person with no regard for others' feelings or well-being. He'd never had a real conversation with him, but what Nora and Pyrrha had told him about their interactions was more than enough to put a terrible taste in Ren's mouth.

And then, last night happened.

He'd always been a light sleeper, and Jaune somehow managed to step surprisingly loudly on a carpeted floor, not to mention the hum and light from his weird wrist-scroll. It'd taken Ren a second to realize who it was, and he'd been suspicious immediately. Why had he come back to their room, when he hadn't even slept there for days? He still didn't know why, not that that mattered.

He'd helped Nora out of that nightmare. She always held on to the mallet he'd given her years ago, especially during the night, when memories of their terrible first encounter could strike her. Then there was what he'd said...

"Hey Ren, look over there," Nora said, knocking him out of his thoughts with a tap on his shoulder. She pointed in the distance, towards the unmistakable Beacon gardens. It was an ever-beautiful sight to behold, the gardens, with the awe-inspiring rainbow of flowers and that pristine cherry blossom. And in the middle of it, sat on one of the marble benches beside the pool, was Jaune Arc himself. And someone else, too.

He and Nora both stopped walking and looked at the pair of leaders talking.

That was another mystery about him, his relationship with Ruby Rose. The girl was his polar opposite, cute and kind and bubbly and outspoken, yet for all their differences, here were the two of them, sat chatting in the gardens. He knew that the two spent time together throughout the day, as well. What was so special about Ruby, that Jaune had chosen her over his own partner, over his own team?

Then again, after what he'd heard the previous night, maybe it wasn't so strange as it may have seemed. He couldn't quite decipher much of what was said, since the conversation was wholly one-sided and grounded in things only Jaune knew.

For example, what he meant when he mentioned something about being chosen by a goat? There were many different religions throughout Remnant, perhaps it was something spiritual? Or maybe it was just a title, or an acronym for some organization. Whatever it exactly was didn't matter, just that it seemed to have decided his fate.

Judging from the little he'd said, then Jaune hadn't had much of a choice in choosing his own life. It reminded Ren of the attack on his village, which had set him on a path from which he could not stray. Had Jaune had been similarly forced?

And it seemed that Jaune may not actually be who he appeared to be. After all, a mean, vicious person who cared not for others wouldn't have comforted a girl having a nightmare, wouldn't have apologized for his actions. Jaune had as good as said it himself that he felt bad for what he'd said and done; yet, he'd felt it necessary to do them in the first place.

Why?

Ren looked at him now, watching him interact with Ruby... just another piece of evidence that he was more than he might appear. If he was truly cruel, then there was no way he could've tolerated Ruby like he was.

Ren honestly had no idea what to make of him. He was one of the most perplexing people he'd ever known.

His eyes slid over to Nora, who was also watching their leader's interaction with a strange interest. Should he tell her? Should he tell her and Pyrrha about last night? If he did, then perhaps the three of them could confront him about just what he was doing.

He closed his eyes in thought. If he did that, then maybe they could force some answers out of him. Or maybe Ren could just confront him on his own? Or... maybe he could just keep this secret?

After all, Jaune had said that the only reason he'd talked to them last night was because he believed that they couldn't hear him. Accordingly, that meant he was saying things he wanted to keep secret, that he wasn't able to _truly_ tell them, for whatever reason. If this were the case, then pressuring him about it could only make things worse, force him on the defensive, force him to viciously lash out as he had before, and then then they'd wind up back in a worse situation than in the first place.

Besides, Jaune was right that he wasn't holding them back. He and Nora had gotten along with Pyrrha splendidly, and the three of them were a good team all on their own. And whatever reason Jaune had for acting as he did could only serve as an explanation, not an excuse.

He scowled.

So no, he wouldn't be telling anyone, and he wouldn't be acting on it. Jaune didn't deserve his action in this case. If their 'leader' really wanted anything to come of it, then perhaps he should grow a spine and talk to them while they were conscious.

"Come on Nora, let's get back to the room," he said. His partner looked back at him, having observed Ruby and their leader just as he had, before smiling again.

"Right," she said. "Now, where was I? Oh, yeah! Anyway, I was wrestling the Ursa into submission..."

Ren spared a final glance back to Jaune. No matter what, he'd be looking at him in a new light from now on.

* * *

"And suddenly, Magnhild was wrenched from my grasp!" Nora exclaimed. She and Ren were taking a walk about the Beacon grounds, letting the wet weekend sun wash down on them. She was in the middle of one of her brilliant stories that everyone loved, especially Ren, her primary audience. Recently though, Pyrrha had gotten in on the masterful Nora's wonderful tales of wonder!

"The great Ursa reared back, but I now had nothing aside from my bare hands!" She raised her fists up in a boxing pose. "So I decided it was time to get personal!" She delivered a few crushing jabs into thin air, imagining the humungous, evil ursa that had totally existed and she'd totally fought and definitely wasn't some random ursa she'd seen and gunned down with Magnhild before it even got close. Definitely not.

She was about to continue her story, before something caught her eye. It was a strange sight that invoked her curiosity the moment she saw it. Her team leader, Jaune Arc, sitting beside that girl Ruby Rose in the garden.

"Hey Ren, look over there," she said, tapping on his shoulder and pointing over to the pair.

Jaune seemed to be having an amicable conversation with Ruby. Honestly, what was the deal with this guy? Like, it seemed that he couldn't make up his mind between being a functioning member of society or a super-mean hermit.

She remembered the very first moment they'd met, when he physically shoved her away and threw a few harsh words at her as well. They hadn't talked since then.

Now, she wasn't prone to spite or hate; in fact, she was the exact opposite. No one would ever call Nora Valkyrie someone who was quick to dislike, but she had _hated_ this guy after getting to Beacon. When she discovered that they'd have to be on the same together...? Well, that had only made things worse. Then Pyrrha told her and Ren about how poorly her attempt to get on with him had gone and... yeah, she hated him.

Then she'd seen him wake up the other day.

She'd left lunch early to use the bathroom in their dorm, which was a ton nicer than any of the public bathrooms around, walking past him as he napped. Then, just as she'd been washing her hands, she heard him cry out.

It wasn't anything dramatic, like a scream or some such. In fact, it was a pretty quiet sound, muted and containing restrained pain. It was the sound of someone who'd been hurt. So, naturally, she came by to see. She saw, alright. She saw her team leader in a sweat, looking frantically about from his position half-draped in covers, the blankets and pillow thrown around by his thrashed awakening.

He'd had a nightmare, was all she could assume. She knew all about those.

So now she couldn't help but feel a little pity for him, for his nightmares. That didn't mean she liked him, nor did her sympathy do anything to counteract much of her distaste, but there was still sympathy, something that any decent human being would extend to another, especially since she knew this particular problem all too well.

His nightmares also sparked off some curiosity. It must've been a particularly bad one, the way he woke up like that. It must've been like the sort of nightmares that she had sometimes. Ren had managed to get through their brutal ordeal with the Nuckelavee relatively unscathed only because of his semblance, and he'd used it to help her through her own problems with the traumatic destruction of the town.

Had Jaune gone through something similar? Had he seen awful things, then lived on to see them again in his sleep, but with no Ren to calm him during the brutal nights?

She shook her head. Maybe he did, maybe he didn't. Whatever it was, he'd never tell her. He'd never tell her because he didn't care about her or anyone else, a fact that he'd established. He'd been awful to her and the team.

And she hadn't seen a shred of guilt on his end. She'd reached out to him while he was having a nightmare, but would he do the same for her? She doubted it. Maybe if he ever did reach out to her like that, she'd be a bit more willing to look at him in a new light, maybe give him a second chance.

"Come on Nora, let's go back to the room," Ren said. He had a scowl on his face, likely caused by the person who'd caught their attention. She didn't blame him.

She nodded and smiled, before picking up her story. "Right," she said. "Now, where was I? Oh, yeah! Anyway, I was wrestling the Ursa into submission..."

* * *

 **So Ren keeps the secret, at least for now. Poor Nora, left unaware of the Wanderer's compassion.**

 **So here you have it, he finally manages to let himself relax around another human being. I'd like to point out that a ton of what the narration described didn't match up with or directly clashed with things that he said or did. This is on purpose, since the narration is supposed to be quasi-representative of the thoughts for whatever character's POV we're in. Accordingly, the narration for the LW, who views many things, especially himself, with a warped perception, will be distinct from reality.**

 **Speaking of narration, I've been wondering if all of you have been paying attention to how the narration addresses people. Names and their power is a pretty important theme in this fic, so looking in on how the narration names each character and during what POV and time period those names are used provides some pretty important insights.**

 **Anyhow, see you all this time next week.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Here we are, let's get going.**

* * *

"This is Lisa Lavender reporting, now presenting a special segment on a rising group within Valean politics: The New Dawn. They describe themselves as champions of traditional Valean values who aren't afraid to get tough against enemies foreign and domestic, especially when it comes to the White Fang and their faunus supporters. Their critics have decried them as reactionary racists, espousing only pro-humanity ideals.

"The New Dawn is not a new party, tracing its roots back as far as the Great War, where they were initially formed by veterans who lobbied the government to take a hard line against the faunus people, helping push the establishment of Menagerie and the subsequent relocation of many faunus communities to the island.

"After achieving that goal, as well as numerous other anti-faunus policies, the New Dawn faded from prominence, primarily living on through familial and military ties, only sporadically flaring back into action in any meaningful way.

"Recently, the New Dawn was little more than a veteran's group that met semi-regularly and participated in few protests in recent years, either supporting controversial measures that some considered discriminatory, or decrying attempts to further liberalize Vale's treatment of the faunus. However, that has all changed in just the last month.

"The New Dawn has had a change in leadership, with the charismatic Frederick Fantoche. An administrative genius, Fantoche took control of the New Dawn's meager operations and quickly organized them into a recruiting force that spread all throughout Vale, attracting more and more new members. Some say the New Dawn have tapped into latent racism within Valean culture, drawing upon fear for the faunus that has recently been exacerbated by the activities of the White Fang. The New Dawn contend that they're tapping into economic frustration and rational fear for one's safety.

"The New Dawn's membership is reported to be nearing the highest it's been since its founding years, and member-engagement is bigger than ever before, with new fundraisers, meetings and even protests being planned.

"Fantoche denies allegations that he and his group are human supremacists, stating that they are a legitimate political party with a distinct vision for Vale's future. They've already developed a distinct set of economic, domestic and foreign policies, distinguishing themselves as more than an anti-faunus party. With elections coming up next year, the New Dawn are hopeful to potentially secure some seats, if not on the council, then in lesser bodies. Fantoche has stated that, 'People don't feel safe on the streets anymore. They don't feel safe when they walk to work, when they visit friends or family. People are looking over their shoulder, because you have the White Fang, and all their supporters. We are not racists. We simply recognize the threat that the White Fang poses, and we believe that strong measures must be taken against the faunus population to ensure that the White Fang doesn't grow any further.'

"Beyond policy relating to the faunus, the New Dawn have outlined plans to direct more funding to Vale's healthcare and education services, along with work programs, paid for by a new round of taxes on upper-class citizens. These populist policies have formed the center of the New Dawn's identification as 'a party for the people' and is resonating with middle and lower class groups that feel a disconnect with Vale's ruling elite.

"The New Dawn are also advocating a massive overhaul of Vale's military and police forces in order to combat 'radical faunus terrorism' and reinstitute law and order to what they view as an increasingly lax society. They also advocate a much more aggressive approach to pacifying lands with Grimm presence, in order to secure Vale proper and provide 'living space' for the population.

"What everyone is eyeing, however, is the New Dawn's plans to form their own paramilitary forces. Fantoche announced plans to organize volunteers, primarily veterans, in the organization in new 'Protection Squadrons' that would provide security for the party meetings and events. What is most concerning, however, is Fantoche's statement that these groups could also potentially intervene in any 'subversive activities' whenever they're observed, acting as vigilantes against the White Fang.

"For now, the New Dawn remains a fringe party, but their membership is still growing. They shout a message that has clearly gained traction, and they have a highly capable leader. Only time will tell how far the New Dawn will go—"

The Lone Wanderer turned down his pip-boy's radio as he saw Ruby come near.

The Beacon garden was left bereft of any sound besides the gentle whisper of the wind as it fell through the air, brushing against the leaves and petals and bark and stone. Soon, Ruby's footfalls joined in.

She slumped onto the marble bench beside him.

"You listen to the news a lot," she said.

"I think it's really interesting."

Ruby grimaced. "Ugh... news." She shook her head, as if the concept of regularly listening to something as droll as the daily news had physically struck her, creating the need for her to regain her senses.

When she was done, she looked back down at his wrist, eyes filled with curiosity. "And what even if this thing, by the way?" She pointed to the bulky device on his wrist. "I've never asked."

"This? Oh, this is just my pip-boy. It's... a special kind of scroll that people back in my hometown made, since we didn't really have access to normal scrolls."

They didn't really have access to anything back in Vault 101, but it was better to leave things about home as vague as possible. Thankfully, Ruby nodded her head in understanding.

"So, why do you still wear it? Didn't Beacon give you a new scroll?"

"Well, yeah..." His scroll was better in many ways to his pip-boy, and it probably would be for the best if he just discarded his old device. But... he'd had it for seven years now. He'd gotten it for a birthday present. It was a reminder of better times.

"It's got some sentimental value," he said truthfully. It felt nice to tell the truth about his past, a subject which often required him to lie, be vague or find an excuse to avoid talking about.

Ruby nodded her head again, once more accepting his explanation.

"So, how you doing?" she asked.

"Eh, I'm alright. Just having lunch." He always stopped by the cafeteria for just a second, avoiding the crowd and striking back out to the garden to finish his meal. Such was the case for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Thankfully, no one ever seemed to spend any time in the garden, at least not for too long. Oh well, their loss and his gain.

"You eat really healthy," Ruby said, examining the bowl of spinach he'd finished off, as well as the discarded protein shake.

"Yeah well, I haven't had the chance to eat properly for a year, since, y'know, the wasteland is pretty sparse in terms of food." He shrugged. "So I love finally getting the chance to have a proper diet, with all the right food groups and stuff."

Ruby looked at the neat pile of trash beside him on the bench, before giggling. "And what food group is strawberry ice cream in?" Sure enough, an empty little pink carton lay on the bench; it had a strawberry printed on the side of it, and it was now filled with nothing but a spoon.

He'd managed to get a halfway-decent job at the docks, hauling around heavy crates for a few hours. There were quite a few students from Beacon there, actually, using their superhuman skills to help do tasks fit for forklifts. He'd saved most of his income in a recently-made bank account, but of what he did spend, most of it went towards Beacon's vending machines, for that one particular treat.

"Hey... dairy's a part of any nutritious diet, alright? Besides, you can't judge me, Cookie Queen. You eat more sugar in a day than I can in a week."

Ruby stuck out her tongue. "I'm not judging you... much."

The Lone Wander grunted and playfully shoved her, sending her nearly toppling off the edge of the bench. She would've fallen over, too, if she'd been sitting on the direct edge, as far from him as she could. Over the last few weeks, though, she'd gotten to sit a bit closer.

"Hey! Don't push me around!" She took both hands and tried to shove him back, though he only moved and inch. Her retaliation was predictable, so he'd already braced himself. Then again, it didn't take much to gear against her pitiful strength. All her combat relied on momentum that was either redirected from the enemy or generated by Crescent Rose. Her figure was too lithe to hold a lot of strength.

"Okay, okay, let's just get going now, alright? I want to test it out now that it's done."

All of Ruby's frustration vanished in thin air. Heh, she was so quick to forget about things when weapons were mentioned. "Yes!" She said while excitedly clapping her hands. "Finally! It's been... what? Almost two weeks? Let's try it out! I'll get everything ready, meet you there!"

With a final smile, she sped away, becoming nothing more than a crimson blur that left rose petals in its wake. It was a sight he'd gotten used to, a sight he wasn't going to get tired of any time soon.

* * *

Ruby rubbed her hands together excitedly as the Lone Wanderer cracked his knuckles.

They'd reserved a sparring room for themselves. It was just large enough to accommodate two opponents at any time, similar in size to the ring that Miss Goodwitch used in class, though bereft of all the additional seating, with only a single bench on the side to accommodate a few spectators. He and Ruby were alone, however, as he pulled the Mysterious Magnum from its holster.

"Here you go," Ruby said, handing him six dust bullets she'd counted out from a box. They'd ordered a new bandolier to hold his bullets, but until then, an ammo box would do. Ruby had decided to go the extra mile and craft the bullets in the armory, just to show him how it was done. He'd been quick to pick everything up, especially since he'd had to work with similar machinery before. Back when he'd been enslaved in the Pitt, whenever he wasn't outrunning trogs for steel, he'd be working the ammo presses. Good times... not really.

He loaded the magnum while Ruby pulled out a few targets. He'd expected them initially to be human-shaped, like all the ones back home, but each were made out to look like a different Grimm. He supposed that made sense, since this school prioritized the fight again Grimm, rather than people.

Ruby set up two different targets, one a beowolf and one an ursa. They each had defined regions assigned a certain amount of points, ranging from one for the edges to five for critical zones like the head and heart.

Ruby gave him a thumb's up and backed away, getting behind him.

He finished putting the last bullet in, then snapped the loader back into place. He looked down at the two targets, each arrayed on the opposite end of the ring from him. He cocked the magnum and took one step back, settling into his usual stance, both hands on the gun, both eyes looking down-range.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

He observed both targets, delineating between the sections within them.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

Time slowed as he pressed his finger ever closer against the trigger.

Breathe deep. Hole. Release.

It happened in a flash. All six shots lets loose against the two targets in as many seconds. Both beowolf and ursa shortly found themselves with two holes in their heart and one in their head.

"Haha! It works perfectly!" Ruby chirped. He turned to see her incredibly wide smile, mostly composed of pride from her excellent work bringing his gun up to snuff, but also something else, too. She was impressed. "Man, you're a really good shot, too!"

"Well, you can thank V.A.T.S. for that."

Ruby's smile disappeared, face morphing into a picture of confusion as she tilted her head. "Eh? What's that that?"

Oh son of a... come on, you really got to stop slipping around her.

He'd promised himself after the whole Hubris and Grognak fiasco to get more tight-lipped about what he talked about, but that promise had proven null. So far, he'd already had to carefully give her doctored, half-true explanations about a ton of things. For example, he'd accidentally mentioned how he was glad there wasn't any radiation here, and when she'd questioned him, the best he could say was that it was industrial run-off which had poisoned his community. True enough, but still. Someone not as trusting as she would eventually poke holes in his stories. So far, however, she'd taken all of his explanations at face-value.

After all, why would he ever lie to her?

He chewed his cheek at the thought of that. He didn't like lying to her. In fact... this was one occasion where he might actually be able to tell her the truth. Yeah... that's nice. Ruby was the only person in Beacon who he really _wanted_ to tell the truth to, for some reason.

But come on, you hate her, don't you?

Well... I don't _hate_ her...

Then what is it?

Uhh... I dunno, why do you have to ask? It's been weeks, and I know I don't hate her. I... tolerate her. Totally, I tolerate her presence.

Tolerate?

Absolutely.

Hmmmm... okay...

Yeah, she's not half bad.

She really isn't.

But I'm not really friends with her or anything.

Of course not.

Of course.

"Let's have a seat and look over the magnum, and I'll explain it to you while we do, 'kay?"

Ruby nodded and followed him over to the bench.

He released the latch on the magnum. "So back in my hometown, everyone got assigned to their future jobs when they were ten, using this big test called the GOAT."

"Really? Sounds weird."

"It was super weird, and the test was pretty stupid, even the teachers who gave it out said so. But the Overseer demanded it, and whatever the Overseer wanted, was done... glad to get out of that place." He ejected the spent cartridge from the magnum, and Ruby leaned over to inspect it with him. "Well, I got selected to be a guard. That meant I'd pretty much be a cop for my town. So, then I started to get all the training for the job." Ruby pushed him aside for a second, leaning in to inspect something closer, before nodding and backing away, letting him continue. "To train all the guards, they use something called V.A.T.S. The Vault-Tec Assisted Targeting System. It was a special program that simulated real-time combat and stuff, so we'd be able to work on our skills. The most important things that it taught me were techniques to use in order to keep my cool under fire and have steady aim."

He leaned back and straightened his posture. He breathed deep. He held it in. He let it out.

"That. Whenever I do that, I'm going back to all my training from V.A.T.S. It really helped get me in shape, work on my aim and get my hand-eye coordination up. I took all those skills and made them better once I set out on my own."

"Heh, neat," Ruby said. She leaned back and straightened up, just as he had. She breathed in deep, puffing her cheeks out like a chipmunk as she did so. Then she held it in... for a bit too long, since she let it all out in a single, desperate gasp.

It took her a few seconds to regain her normal breath, while he only shook his head. The tips of the Lone Wanderer's mouth crept ever-so-slightly upwards.

"THERE!" Ruby shouted.

His eyes flew wide upon as she pounced at him, shoving her fingers in his face.

"There! Right there! I saw it! Don't think I didn't see it!" She pointed at his mouth. "I saw you smile! You totally just smiled!"

He batted her hands away—gently. He scooted away from her on the bench. "Hey, what the heck are you doing!?"

"You smiled! You never smile, but I think I just saw it!" She moved even closer to him, again poking at his face. "You did!"

The Lone Wanderer backed away even more, before falling off of the bench altogether. He crashed back to the ground, hearing Ruby laugh and laugh all the while. He let his eyes drift closed, pointedly suppressing the urge to let his lips curl upwards, since that would mean she'd won.

She continued to giggle, and he just barely resisted the desire to join her.

"Ruby Rose!"

Oh god damn it. He cracked his eyes open to see the mean, hot one charge into the room. Of course, he instantly recognized Weiss, his best friend's partner, but that didn't mean he knew her as being anything other than mean and hot. Granted, Ruby had vouched for her quality as a person, and he trusted her judgement.

He sat up on the floor. Good person or not, Weiss still hated him, generally treating him like nothing or worse than nothing, and he still didn't like her all that much either. Well, he liked looking at her, but he wasn't much of a fan of the personality behind the body. Heh, didn't mean he couldn't have some fun. If their first meeting back in the lockers had been any indication, then he knew the buttons to push.

"Hey Ruby, who is this girl?" he asked.

Weiss ground her teeth.

"Huh? This is my partner."

"She is? Didn't recognize her. I guess she's just not very remarkable..."

"Stop patronizing me, you fool!" Weiss shouted," Of course you must recognize me, I'm the girl you leer at whenever you think I'm not looking!"

That made his mouth shut with an audible click. Whoops. Ruby squeaked, and although she was out of view, he was pretty sure her face had gotten a little red. Great.

Weiss huffed and spun on her heel, turning towards Ruby, who eeped at the sight of her angry face. With a deep breath, Weiss calmed herself, before addressing her partner. "Ruby, I thought you said we were going to spar today?"

"Wha? Oh darn, I did!" Ruby's face fell into panic as she jumped up from the bench. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! We finished work on the Mysterious Magnum this morning, and I just got so excited to test it out that I forgot! I'm sorry!"

Weiss imperiously poised her hands on her hips, but after a few second, even she had to give into the puppy-dog eyes. "Oh alright... I suppose a bit of excitement can be forgiven... once!" She tutted. "Just once—hey!"

She squirmed as Ruby suddenly leapt at her and threw her arms around her, dragging the girl into a hug.

"Thanks Weiss, you're the best!"

"Get off me, you dolt!"

"You don't mean that!"

"I do!"

"No you don't!"

"Yes I do!"

"Nuh-uh!"

"AARGH!"

Weiss managed to pry herself free and stumble away from Ruby, who always managed to tap into some inhuman strength whenever it came to giving hugs. She shook her head and straightened out her skirt, before once more rearing on the Lone Wanderer.

Uh-oh.

"And you, shouldn't you be spending some time with your own team?"

His eyes narrowed.

"Oh my, did I strike a nerve?" She grinned cockily. "Hmph. Well, your drama is your own, I suppose, though it's obvious to everyone in Beacon."

"What's obvious?" Ruby asked.

Weiss gave her partner a sidelong look before rolling her eyes and glaring back at the Wanderer. "Well, obvious to _almost_ everyone." She shrugged. "Anyhow, could I borrow my partner for a bit? We're trying to work on our teamwork."

The Lone Wanderer bit down a retort, if only for Ruby's sake. He may not like Weiss all that much, but Ruby was quick to protect her as one of her closest friends. He'd only upset her by pushing things further.

"Sure, we just finished testing out the Mysterious Magnum, anyway. It's all in working order, so I guess I can get going."

Weiss, seeing the olive branch for what it was, nodded curtly. Her eyes snapped down to the pistol he was holstering, however, and she couldn't help prodding at him once more. "What kind of name is ' _Mysterious_ _Magnum'_ anyhow? Seems awfully contrived, to me."

"Well, I got it from the Mysterious Stranger, so that's what I named it."

"Mysterious Stranger?"

"Yeah, this guy back from his homeland," Ruby answered, butting in on the conversation before the Wanderer could reply and possibly heat things up further. "He was this weird vigilante who went from place to place, fighting criminals as he went. But he got injured and had to retire, so he gave his gun to Jaune when he did."

Weiss raised one eyebrow at Ruby, then slowly turned her suspicious look back at the Wanderer. "Hmph, I suppose I can pretend to believe that... still a contrived name, however."

"No more contrived than ' _Mirt-Nastier'_ or whatever yours is called."

Weiss scoffed. "It's called ' _Myrtenaster '_ and it is an elegant, sophisticated weapon! Far more exquisite than that barbaric chainsaw of yours!"

"Hey, Crocea Mors is an advanced piece of machinery, thank you very much. I'll have you know, it can tear through armor with ease; the wounds it inflicts are near impossible to sew up, and nothing short of immediate surgery will be able to help you out; get it anywhere close to a major artery, and my opponent'll bleed out quick; the psychological damage that it can do is huge. All in all, it's a pretty great weapon."

Weiss's seemed about to throw out a reply, before she froze. Her combative expression melted and turned into something more stoic, something that didn't give away what she was thinking. Well, except for her eyes. They were filled with distrust.

"What exactly could you do with that sword?"

The Lone Wanderer rested his hand on the ripper's hilt. "I could cut someone in half."

Weiss's eyes narrowed.

"Oooooookay," Ruby said, "I think it's time that... uh, Weiss and I get to sparring. We can meet up again later like we talked about, right Jaune?"

The Lone Wanderer nodded and walked past the girls, towards the door. In his peripheral vision, he saw Wiess turn her head to continue glaring at him, and his skin crawled under her look. Before he reached the door, he turned around and decided to fight back at her gaze with some words. "See something you like, Ice Queen? Or is there some other reason you're staring at me?"

She scowled and huffed. "Just ensuring that you don't sneak anymore looks at my rear!"

"Yeah, yeah, don't get all worked up." He opened the door and stepped through, though he turned around and added, "But don't take my looking too personally, Snow Angel. You're too flat for my tastes, anyhow."

Weiss scrunched her brow in confusion for a moment, before her eyes widened and she looked down at her chest. Her face shot up a moment later, expression filled with _murder_.

The Lone Wanderer quickly shut and pressed his back against the door, chuckling to himself as the aforementioned Snow Angel started shouting about her physique and how he simply had no taste, being a mongrel raised in the middle of nowhere.

Well, she wasn't wrong about the 'nowhere' part. Ah well, that was one bridge that had been burned a long time ago, anyway. Alright, priority one is getting to another vending machine and picking up some more ice cream...

The tip of Myrtenaster pierced through the door, no more than an inch away from his head.

Nope, priority one is getting as far away as possible.

He ducked under the rapier and sped down the hallway.

* * *

He yawned and threw his backpack on the floor. It hit with a heavy thump that seeped out into the caverns behind him, where it echoed off of the dark, wet walls. It had surely been a long day. He'd thrashed someone in Miss Goodwitch's class and cut down a good-sized beowolf in Port's.

Of course, Ruby was cheering him on through both occasions. That made it a nice day.

Still, it had also been tiring, and he was about ready to get to sleep, all the good it'd do him. He'd been ready to go to sleep several times throughout the day, when his exhaustion became more apparent than usual. It happened at seemingly random moments, jumping on him out of nowhere and demanding he close his eyes.

He'd nodded off during Oobleck's lesson... again. He'd nearly fallen asleep when he first visited the garden that morning. He dozed slightly while studying in the library. He'd also even felt the urge to take a nap while idling in the gym locker room.

He shivered at the thought of resting his face on the locker room benches while slept. He'd probably get a sickness worse than anything the wasteland could offer.

Ah well, he was finally back in his little hovel, where he could relax and go to sleep for... probably four hours. Maybe a little more, if he was lucky, thought he doubted that. He always woke up in the middle of the night, and he'd never manage to get back to sleep, with the desired exhaustion only hitting him later in the day.

It was infuriating, honestly. He didn't even know exactly what woke him up. Was it that nightmares? Maybe, maybe not. Who knew, certainly not him. Perhaps there was just some sort of incumbent restlessness that infected him in his sleep.

He collapsed down onto his sleeping mat with a tired sigh. He closed his eyes, instantly encompassed by the cave's absolute darkness. It was cold, and he was alone. He idly wished for... something. Maybe someone. Maye a bunch of people. Something...

He got nothing, nothing besides sleep.

The darkness slowly faded away, taken over by a feint light which steadily grew in intensity.

The sunlight was mangled by the thick morning smog and collapsed half-dead to the Earth, such that only a sickly yellow haze fell across the wasteland that day. Normally, this would've set the Wanderer even more on edge than usual, but he was beside the Citadel, and the Brotherhood's watchmen would cut down any threat that came near, always looking through their powerful visors.

The knowledge that they were undoubtedly looking at him, as well, made his skin crawl. Still, it was a disgusting sensation that he would endure, for he had a task of the upmost importance.

He walked through rows and rows of small signs, none higher than his knee. On each was scrawled a name and a phrase. Well, there were names for those who could be recalled, those who weren't so disfigured that their body could still be recognized, those that knew people who could recognize them in the first place.

The Brotherhood graveyard, a plot of land just outside of the Citadel, reserved for the bodies of those members who've passed on. It was a solemn place, possessing an air of dignity and power that demanded one's respect. He gave it all the respect it deserved, reverently plodding around each grave, careful not to disturb a single person's rest.

He cut a direct path to his destination. He knew it by heart, having visited many times. Whenever he passed by the Citadel, a melancholy urge fell upon him, commanded him to come by and visit one grave in particular.

He marched up to it. It was one of the shinier ones. Each gravestone was actually a plate of metal, on which was inscribed the necessary words. Some had names, others simply read _A Fallen Brother_. This one had a name, however.

The Lone Wanderer knelt before the grave.

 _Maxwell Noble._

His eyes scanned the letters, solemn and silent. The stared back at him, accusingly. They knew. They knew things that most others in the Citadel did not know, and with that knowledge, those sad letters accused him. They berated him and his lies, his selfishness.

He looked lower, at the words stamped below the name.

 _A young man, taken too soon. He succumbed to the wasteland. For his deeds, he will be remembered as a true hero._

The Lone Wanderer sat down in front of the gravestone and stared. Above him. The sun passed by, slowly crawling up and up, further above the horizon, before hitting its apex and slowly falling back down the other way. Orange bled into the sky as the sun ran closer and closer to the East.

Through it all, the Lone Wanderer sat and stared.

"Hey mister?"

His head snapped quickly to the side. He'd become so enraptured by those words, by the power they contained, by the memories they summoned, that he hadn't even noticed the boy who walked up beside him.

Said boy started back at the Wanderer's quick movement, but when it became apparent that he meant no harm, he stood his ground, even shuffled a little closer. "Sorry to bother you, but... did you know him?"

"What?" The Wanderer's voice croaked out of the filtration helmet, raspy and harsh. He recognized the boy, of course. It was Arthur Maxson, the last of a long line of Maxsons who'd founded and guided the Brotherhood of Steel through the centuries. It'd been a long time since they spoke.

"Did you know him?" Arthur asked again, pointing at the gravestone. "Max? Did you know Max?"

The Lone Wanderer stared at the boy, who shuffled under his dead gaze, seeing only the dull glass of his filtration helmet. He slowly turned his head to look back at gravestone, then back at the boy.

"No..." He said, slowly. He shook his head. "No, no I didn't know him."

Arthur's face sagged. "Oh, sorry then. I just saw you sitting out here from the Citadel, and I recognized where you were and... well, sorry." He nervously scratched at the back of his head. "It's just that, Max and I were friends, so I figured I'd talk and see if you knew any more about him."

The Lone Wanderer shook his head and looked away, before a thought struck him and he turned back. "Could you tell me a bit about him?"

"Huh?"

"You knew Max."

Arthur nodded.

"So, can you tell me a bit about him?"

"Oh, uh sure. Well... there's a lot to say. He was awesome, really cool. He was kinda shy and awkward, but he was really nice and funny, too. People liked him, cause he could always smile or crack some stupid joke. Most of his jokes weren't very good... but I think that's what made them funny a lot of the time.

"Yeah, everyone was really sad when they figured out he died. The Enclave killed him, up at Adams Air Force Base, but not before he messed them up good.

"He was just... nice. Most people here are pretty grouchy. We're in a rough spot, and they know it, and they let that fact get to them. Not Max, though. He was always, I dunno, bright. He smiled a lot, and he was always really nice.

Arthur sighed. "I miss him... everyone does..."

"Arthur!" It was one of the knights, who was charging around the border of the graveyard. "Arhur, get away from that man!"

"What? But—"

"Get back into the Citadel! Now!" The knight snapped his gaze at the Wanderer and pointed. "And as for _you!_ You should get out of here, get away from that grave! That boy was too nice to go and have scum like you messing with his remains!"

The Wanderer slowly stood up, looking back and forth between Arthur and the knight. Well, it seemed that this day of remembrance had now come to an end. He looked back down at the grave. It was a sad thing, truly—

A hand shot out of the soil, wrapped its fingers around his ankle and tore him down.

He screamed and clawed at the ground, trying to find some purchase that would let him delay his doom, but it was to no avail. He was dragged further and further down, before the dirt and detritus of the surface smother his vision completely, leaving him trapped in the dark, all power ebbing out of his muscles until he was rendered completely immobile and helpless.

"My, my, my... what a sad reunion." That voice, that awful, terrible, kind-sounding voice.

Bishop chuckled in the darkness.

"Here, do you want to see how it happened? Do you want to see the moment that he died?" Bishop's voice was close, just outside of his ear, and the Wanderer's breath quickened.

Please no, please. His eyes stung, and he silently sobbed as the darkness before him melted away, revealing a scene of war. There was scattered debris everywhere, left behind by the Brotherhood's artillery fire. Destroyed vertibirds littered the ground, as more departed in the distance, carrying the retreating Enclave away. Knights and Regulators and Outcasts together swarmed into the Air Force Base, braving heavy fire and dolling out plenty of fire of their own. The crackling of bullets and lasers and plasma mixed with the hideous roars of fire and explosions. Smoke rose high in the air, from craters and bombed out building and the charred remains of the mobile base that had been so recently annihilated by an orbital strike. Destruction was rampant, and the anti-Enclave coalition had won the day, a glorious victory.

It would go down as one of the single worst days in the Wanderer's life.

He saw him, Bishop Beauvais. He snaked his way back from a Knight's swing, feigning imbalance so that the poor man would overextend, letting him dart in and stab through a crook in his armor. He shoved the immense power armor aside, throwing it off and charging back into the fray. They were all alone, fighting against Bishop and his elites.

He and his group had stopped with Sarah and the Pride to watch the mobile base be destroyed, when they'd been ambushed. It'd descended into a savage brawl, and Bishop had cut his way across it all. With a triumphant laugh, Bishop charged in, and the Lone Wanderer saw him thrust Rubrem Mors straight at Max...

The Lone Wanderer awoke, trembling. A sick, despicable sensation sat in his chest, revolting and defiling and _wrong_ in every way imaginable.

He shakily sat up on his sleeping mat, with a heavy weight just behind his eyes and even heavier demand that he not close them. He couldn't close them. How could he? After _that?_

He let his head fall into his hands, which quickly became slick from a mix of both sweat and tears. That... that had been one memory he'd thought he'd managed to outrun. He hadn't relived that so vividly in... in so long. He always tried his best to not think about it, in the hopes that one day he'd forget outright. Obviously, that wasn't the case. It'd never be the case.

God, how would he ever be able to sleep again...

* * *

"Ugh, I can't wait to finally sleep... y'know Weiss, you're a real slaver driver," Ruby said.

"Well, you'll thank me once we all get A's on Oobleck's first test," the heiress replied, closing her book and getting up from her desk.

Blake and Yang also put their supplies away, and the whole the team went to the bathroom to finish off the necessary nightly preparations, before they started getting changed into their pajamas. It had been a tiring day, but a good one! Ruby had finally managed to see the fruits of her labor in the Mysterious Magnum's successful performance, not to mention spending time with Jaune was generally a pretty nice thing. Her sparring had gone well with Weiss, and she'd even managed to get her prickly partner to calm down and loosen up after Jaune's... kinda-not-nice words. Weiss had even laughed and joked around with her after they finished sparring and before they got to studying.

So yeah, it was a good day, and that meant there would be some good dreams in store for her, too! Ugh, she just hoped that all the studying she'd done wouldn't leak into her dreams... studying...

Oh wait!

"Hey guys, I'm gonna meet Jaune in the library tomorrow to go over some notes real quick, for like an hour maybe." Blake politely nodded before hopping up into her bunk. Yang shrugged and curtly smiled. Thankfully, her sister hadn't raised and further objection to her friendship with Jaune, probably since he'd never done anything bad to her and had even been a little nicer to people recently. Well, he'd stopped giving death-stares to everyone who came anywhere close, but that was still an improvement.

Weiss replied predictably. "You can do what you wish with that rapscallion."

"Heh, Weiss is just pissed 'cause he called her out," Yang teased.

"Ugh! I am not! His insult didn't effect me in the slightest, for I'm not self-conscious at all about my size... not that you'd ever have to deal with that."

Yang laughed and fell back into her bed. "Hey, I got the looks, what can I say? Besides, you should feel flattered, since he's definitely lying; judging by how he checks you out sometimes, he's totally into you."

"He does express interest," Blake said, pulling out her book and preparing to ride out the nightly banter with her most recent story.

"I would _never_ fraternize with the likes of _him_ ," Weiss said, scrunching up her mouth as if she'd just tasted something sour. "The very thought is revolting... besides, that's not what's thrown me off."

"Huh? Then what is it?" Ruby asked as she pulled on the last of her night clothes.

Weiss sighed and sat down on the side of her bed, a fresh scowl gracing her face. "It was something else he said during our meeting in the training room... the way he talked about that garish weapon of his."

"Crocea Mors?" Ruby asked, sitting beside her partner on her bed.

Weiss nodded. "Ruby, how would you describe Crescent Rose to me? Wait, how would you describe what you can do with it? Give me just _one_ example."

Some of the light faded from Ruby's eyes as her long-winded rant about her weapon's incredible abilities and characteristics was cut short. She swallowed down the disappointment and tapped one finger against her chin, humming.

"Well, I could fire it off and slice the heads off of three charging beowolves in one good swing!"

Weiss nodded. "And how about you yang? One good show of Ember Celica's force."

"Heh, I can smash an ursa's skull in with one punch," Yang said.

"And how about you, Blake? What can Gambol Shroud do?"

Blake set her book down and drummed her fingers against the pages for a few seconds. "Well, I can outmaneuver just about anything with the ribbon, and can use it to spring in for a killing blow, like what I did to that ursa back in initiation, remember Yang?"

"Uh-huh, I remember. That was the first time we ever met... ahh, the memories. It was ages ago..."

"It was about three weeks ago..."

"Eh, same difference."

"Well, would you like to know how Jaune described Crocea Mors?" Weiss asked, vutting in before the conversation could be derailed.

The three other girls in the room looked at her expectantly.

"If I recall correctly, he said it could shred through armor, that it could leave wounds only surgery could heal, that his opponents would bleed out, that it dealt out plenty of psychological damage. Do you see the difference between his description and yours?"

"Uhhh... yes?" Ruby tentatively said.

Weiss spared her a single glance out of the corner of her eye.

"Okay... no."

"Listen Weiss, will you get to the point already?" Yang said. She flourished her hand back and dramatically laid it back against her forehead. "We're all _dying_ to know what your message is... especially since some of us want to get to sleep..."

"Hmph, when I further questioned him, when I asked for an example just like you did, what did he say? Did he mention beowolves like Ruby? Did he talk about ursa, like you or Blake? No." Weiss crossed her arms over her chest. "He said he could cut a person in half."

The only sound in the room came from the gently clicking grasshoppers just outside the window.

"Armor..." Blake whispered.

"Grimm don't wear armor," Weiss replied.

"Surgery..." Ruby said.

"Grimm don't have any surgeons."

"Psychology..." Yang said.

"Since when have Grimm been anything but mindless?"

Weiss rose from her bed and stalked towards the window. She stared out angrily at the broken moon.

"People. That's what's bothering me. He explicitly talked about his weapon in terms of fighting people, not Grimm, and that's piqued my suspicion."

No one noticed Blake huddled up closer to herself on her bunk.

"And when he said he could cut someone in half... it was with such nonchalance that I can't help but think he might really be able to do it. He gives me a bad feeling.

Ruby shook her head. Not Jaune. He was her friend, after all. Sure, he was rough around the edges, but could he really be a killer? Could he really hurt people like that? Wounds? Surgery? Psychological torture?

No way.

* * *

 **Yes way. Yes way, indeed.**

 **So not much has happened this time around, maybe blame that on me having a busy week. I didn't get too much time to plan and execute this chapter, but I hope it turned out alright nonetheless. It may be hard for me to put one out next week since I have finals right now, but I'll do my best.**

 **However, a lot of stuff happened in this chapter that I also believe is pretty important; it just so happens that that stuff is pretty much all exposition, sorry. I've had many of these scenes in mind for a while, and I'm glad to finally write them. But I'm really excited to finally put something into next chapter that I've been waiting to do for a while.**

 **Also, there is indeed a time skip between this chapter and the last, of about 2-weeks, just in case you couldn't tell that out from the reading.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Now, I feel like I ought to address something here before I move onwards. The New Dawn is NOT supposed to be an allegory for any contemporary political movement. I admit that some of the diction used last chapter, primarily the 'radical faunus terrorism' bit, was inspired by the problems of the last couple decades, and that was my attempt at making a problem in a fictional world more understandable and relatable to the audience; there will be few or no references to modern issues in the future, as I never planned there to be in the first place.**

 **The New Dawn is entirely based off of the Nazi party. They're a political party that initially appealed to veterans of a 'Great War'. They want to get 'Living Space' which is a direct translation of Lebensraum, the Nazi belief in getting territory to settle with Germans. They want to form 'protection squadrons' which is a direct translation of schutzstaffel, the SS. They are an allegory for the Nazi's, nothing else.**

 **The New Dawn will serve a purpose in this fic, but not at all as a vehicle for my personal political views. I've just always been intrigued by the situation of the faunus in the show, which isn't portrayed very much, so I decided to explore it more here. I implore all readers to refrain from seeking out any kind of contemporary political message, as there is none. The New Dawn will be villains (if you hadn't already guessed), nothing else. I don't think it's a political move to make the Nazi's the bad guys and to say that racism is bad, since those are latent facts.**

 **I write this story because it's a fun hobby, and I just want everyone to enjoy the fic and have a good time. So without further ado, let's get to it.**

* * *

It had become a difficult task to keep his eyes open. He hadn't slept the night before, or much the night before that, but there was something else as well, something that was dragging him down. It was, undoubtedly, Professor Port's droll dribble. The last few classes had actually been pretty interesting, with bombastic explanations of Grimm's behavioral patterns, common combat methods and plenty of live demonstrations where he invited students to come up on the stage and test out their techniques. However, he was now boasting about how he wrestled a King Taijitsu with one hand literally tied behind his back, and after an hour of such nonsense, the Lone Wanderer was tempted to draw Crocea mors and drive it into his skull.

He settled for a groan a desperate wish that time moved faster.

He sat in the back of the class, per usual. He wasn't in the corner, since from there, he wouldn't have a good view of Ruby, who occasionally looked back at him and rolled her eyes at something particularly awful by Port, or would flash him some of her doodles. She was determined and studious, but even Weiss had stopped chastising her for losing focus during Port's stories.

He glanced over at her, but judging by the way her head was resting on her notebook and her shoulders were rising in a rhythmic manner, she was well asleep. Lucky.

He wished he could sleep like that, without a care in the world. Ever since his most recent brush with Bishop and the reminder of Max's fate, he'd actively avoided closing his eyes.

It wasn't like he could control his dreams. They were times when everything was taken away from him, when he was forced to relive what he'd hoped he could forget.

The only solution was not to sleep at all.

So that's what he'd done. After waking up, he hadn't gone back to sleep, just wasting away in his cave and traipsing about the Emerald forest until school began. From there, he'd gone about his day and hadn't even gone back to the cave. He'd gone to work at the docks for a few hours, volunteering for more time afterward, well into the night. Then he'd gotten back and studied until school started all over again.

Then here he was. The third class of the day, after Oobleck's history and Peach's psychology seminar. Now he'd been sentenced to withering through another one of Port's narcissistic ravings, and it was harder than ever to stay awake.

There was the danger inherent in falling asleep in a room full of people, but that wasn't what really gnawed at him. He'd become increasingly comfortable with the people here at Beacon. Most of them, with the glaring exception of team CRDL and their contemporaries, where good people. No, he didn't want to sleep because sleeping would lead back to the nightmares, and he was sick of it.

For a long, long time, he'd been sick and tired of putting up with the specters that haunted him as he slept, the taunts from Bishop, the faces of the dead. He knew that it wasn't a permanent solution, that he'd have to go back to sleep eventually and once more face the anti-rest that it always provided, but at least he'd have this break. Just a break, for just a few days. That was all he wanted.

Just for a little while, he wanted some peace.

He sighed and lightly slapped his cheeks to keep himself awake. Once more, he enviously looked over at Ruby and... dear god, Weiss!? Well, it looked like even the mightiest had finally fallen to Professor Port's rambling. Really, all they needed to do to defeat the Grimm was record a few hours of him talking, then play it on repeat out in the wilds. The monsters would all leap off cliffs after a few days of that ceaseless nonsense.

Ugh, just let the mind wander to avoid this terrible fate that you've been condemned to. Why have I been forsaken? Why must the man with the mustache slowly rip out my soul? This is like that old Greek story where the guy gets his liver eaten out by a vulture or something every day.

God, I'm dramatic when I'm tired.

He let his head fall into his hands. This was... awful. That really was the only way to explain it. Perhaps he'd get some respite from the other students in the room. Who knew, perhaps they could be entertaining in their own way? He'd always loved people watching.

He moved his fingers apart to form a crack through which he could spy on his classmates. People watching had been a favored past-time ever since he'd left the vault, and Remnant provided even more interest. There was the girl with the bunny ears, for starters. That was something he didn't think he'd ever see. The faunus here were incredible, with horns and tails and ears of all sorts. It was like something from a fairy tale. He watched the girl (Velvet, if he recalled correctly) from the back of the class, idly observing how her ears twitched and swayed.

But even that got old, especially since he'd done it several times before, so his eyes swept across the room, dressing down every person from row to row. Eventually, one caught his eye. Do something enough times, and get noticed doing it enough times, then someone will start to recognize the pattern. The Lone Wanderer had recognized a pattern.

He had no idea who the guy was. He didn't really care either. Or, he hadn't cared. That had recently started to change. He was a weedy-looking kid who'd never done well in sparring class and had never raised his hand to answer a question. He'd cloistered himself with his team and appeared to be antisocial to a degree that was second only to the Wanderer himself. So, what was he doing?

Well, the Wanderer was a fairly perceptive kind of person, and he'd seen how the guy watches. He watched, through every class. He watched one thing, one person. The Lone Wanderer looked at him now, with his head resting on the fist of one hand, elbow propped on the table; it was an arrangement that permitted him to look at the exact same spot for the whole class, for hours, if need be.

Looking right at Pyrrha Nikos.

He was probably a big fan, or at least he'd started out that way. There was something in the way he held himself, the way he looked, the way he _stared_ that left the Wanderer thinking that he had other things in mind than getting her autograph. The Wanderer wasn't foreign to the practice of looking at pretty girls. Hell, no guy was, especially not in a place like Beacon where literally every female was downright beautiful. But looks were always transient, at least in his case with Weiss.

A thought sprung into his mind, an image of this guy looking at Ruby the way he was looking at Pyrrha.

The Lone Wanderer was displeased.

He shook his head. Whatever, just let the guy go about his business. If he ever had the guts to ask Pyrrha out, then good for him. Maybe she'd say yes, and maybe they'd be happy together. That would be nice.

A memory accosted him, a memory of her face, downtrodden and hurt and upset. Back on the day of initiation, when he'd so brutally repulsed her.

The Wanderer closed his eyes and groaned as he massaged his temples with his hands. God damn this place, really. He just needed to get away. Yeah, he'd look over Crocea Mors with Ruby, suggest his special project to her. And when that was done, and when he'd gotten more practice with fighting, then he'd be able to leave. He'd gone to Miss Goodwitch for help on his technique, and with her advice, he was already starting to utilize his aura better. He was steadily recrafting his fighting style to accommodate his newfound strength and resilience, steadily managing his power better. Qrow had been right to send him here, since he only would've been able to achieve this alone through much more time and effort, time and effort gained through field experience, during which he would be perpetually disadvantaged and in potentially mortal danger. This was in stark contrast to his situation entering the wasteland, where he'd been extensively trained through VATS.

He just needed to get away. Then he'd never have to deal with this school again.

He'd never have to see Ruby again.

For some reason, he felt a hollowness suddenly develop in his stomach.

Thankfully, however, the bell chose that exact time to ring, successfully diverting his attention away from the newfound feeling and instead to a delight sense of, well, delight. It was done! The torture was over! Now he was free from class for the rest of the day. That meant he'd go to the library and go over his notes until Ruby came by, where they'd once more chat and look over their collected notes together. Ooobleck's first big test was in just a few days, after all.

He stretched, cracked his neck and sighed as he rose from his seat. Port said something about something, and nobody listened because nobody cared for that something. In moments like this, people just wanted to reach the hallway.

Ruby and her team sped out, needing to get to their next lesson. The rest of JNPR cleared out more slowly, since they shared the same schedule as him and had no more classes. Where they were headed to, he had no idea.

And he didn't possess the slightest bit of curiosity about where they went, and neither did he, in any slight capacity, wonder if maybe he could've gone with them.

Exhaustion always brings to light, either through sleep or idle thought, one's dreams. So it was, that his mind wandered.

It had been nice to have a team. He looked at them pass, and thoughts of Fawkes and John and Jane pressed into his mind, Dogmeat, too. His dog had been the first to join his little group, found in an abandoned junkyard, where they'd bonded over a fight against a molerat horde.

Dogmeat... he'd been a good boy. From the very beginning, he'd been nice and loyal and ferocious to anyone that would dare harm his master. Yeah... a good boy, indeed.

Then had come John and Jane. The two of them had been in a bind against a group of raiders when he'd come by and bailed them out with a surprise attack that leveled their mutual foes. Well, that was the way he told it. They liked to say that they'd had the situation perfectly under control and didn't need his help, even though they still appreciated it.

He noiselessly chuckled as he watched the last students file out of the classroom. The twins had always been like that... such an attitude for them. Maybe Nora or Ren or Pyrrha had some similar such attitude... or maybe there was something else about them all that made them fun and interesting in their own unique ways... there probably was...

He dug his knuckles into his temples to drive out the thoughts. He wouldn't have a team. Not another. Not again.

Never again.

When the last of his classmates left the room, he moved to go as well. He always wanted to be the last to leave, then there'd be no one at his back, not to mention more room in the hallway for him to navigate, allowing him to be as far away from others as he needed to be.

However, he was stopped just before he left the door, stopped by a sound behind him that indicated he'd missed someone. With a glance over his shoulder, he saw one last student still in class, none other than the one he'd observed before, the one who'd been looking at Pyrrha.

He'd... wait, he was hovering at Pyrrha seat. The Lone Wanderer narrowed his eyes. The young huntsman was... doing something at her desk. He was just hovering there, scanning it with a muted desperation, looking for something, perhaps anything.

He blinked and slowly looked away. It was none of his business what that guy did, if he was really doing anything at all. Just so long as he wasn't going to cause any trouble...

What if he does something bad to my team?

A violent, vicious desire to smash the kid's skull in and splatter his brains across the floor assault the Wanderer's senses.

He shook his head. No, nothing like that... why was he even getting upset? Probably just tired... tired and paranoid like usual... probably nothing... maybe I'm even hallucinating.

He shook his head once more and left the room, trying to escape the jarring sensation of protectiveness he suddenly felt.

* * *

The library was, predictably, a quiet and relaxing place. Usually, that was nice, and the Lone Wanderer appreciated that. But it wasn't the most conducive to staying awake. Neither were boring notes, either.

The Lone Wanderer yawned and flipped a page in his notebook. There was honestly not much that could be done about that. It wasn't like he could force himself to stay awake. Well, not beyond the measures he'd already taken.

He took yet another sip of coffee, from what was probably the fifth or sixth cup he'd had that day, and it was only... what, two in the afternoon? No, a quick check of the clock showed it was two-thirty, and that was still pretty early for the fifth cup of coffee. Then again, it was actually pretty late, if you took into account the fact that he hadn't gone to sleep the night prior, that he'd hardly had a sliver of sleep the night before that.

Well, this was his break from all the trouble that sleeping caused him, so he was going to make sure that it lasted as long it could, damn it!

He looked down at the pages in his notebook, at the scrawls which had desperately translated Oobleck's latest few lectures. It was incomplete, of course, and his meeting with Ruby was for more than just talking. Each of them needed to accrue as much as they possible could about just what, exactly, their manic teacher had talked about in class, since lord knows that not even Weiss was able to catch everything.

With a put-upon-sigh, he got back to reading.

This particular section was about Atlas. More specifically, it was about Atlas's government. It was surprisingly comparable to the Brotherhood of Steel, with how advanced and military-oriented both bodies were.

Still, as interesting as the material may be, it was hard to read through a blurry vision. He rubbed his eyes again and got back to studying, but found himself hardly capable of doing anything more than going over the same few lines over and over again at any moment.

On one particular line, his brain found itself sinking back into the past. He slowly mumbled it to himself as darkness faded into his vision and memory took control.

"The head of state of Atlas..."

"The head of state of Atlas..."

"The head of state..."

"Head of state..."

…

…

…

"-head of state of the United States of America," the great machine said.

The young man had seen many strange things during his short time spent in the wasteland, from horribly deformed monstrosities to cannibalistic psychos. However, it had never occurred to him that he may come across the President of the USA, and that the President would be a computer.

Said computer fell silent, waiting for his response, but even when it didn't speak, the massive structure that composed Eden's form emitted a constant hum, a latent whirring that filled every corner of the room, that muted every other sound which tried to compete. The room had several such constant sensations. For example, great coolers cast a sheen of frost on every surface and numbed his skin, sinking even deeper as well, into his muscles and down to his bone. Every movement was tinged with a chilly sluggishness. There was darkness, too, only challenged by tiny lights set in the computer's parts, as well as the massive screen which only gave only a dim, ominous portrayal of a wave that moved whenever President Eden spoke.

"Overwhelmed?" Eden asked. "No worry, I suppose that this must come as quite the surprise. Allow yourself a moment for it all to sink in."

"You... you're the one on the radio?"

"I am. I recorded all those lines quite a while ago, to be played on repeat for the radio and through eyebots distributed across the wastes. Now, I would love to talk to you about a great many things, but there's a reason for my bringing you here."

The young man shook his head, throwing aside the confusion and instead raising his plasma rifle at the computer screen. "You lead these people. They killed my father." He sneered. "Give me a reason why I shouldn't kill you."

"Well, you'd never be able to actually hit any core systems with that peashooter of yours, for one. I was built to survive a nuclear explosion, which I did. You could shoot a rocket launcher at me, and it would have no effect. A second reason would be that I'm the only reason Bishop's cretin, Arthur, isn't still trying to beat codes to the purifier out of you."

The young man bit the inside of his cheek. "I guess those are good reasons.."

He didn't lower the tip of his rifle. For one, the machine could just be lying to save itself, it may still be vulnerable to attack. Then again... why would it have brought him here if he was truly susceptible to his plasma rifle? And he owed this guy for getting him away from Arthur...

"Alright, I'm listening."

"Excellent," Eden said. "Now, you know who Bishop Beauvais is, I believe?"

The young man's lips peeled back into a hateful, angry sign of disgust.

"I'll take that as a yes. Well, he and his superior, Colonel Autumn, have worked as my surrogates for years. For purposes of moral, no one in the Enclave is aware of my true nature, no one aside from Autumn and Bishop. They worked as middle men between myself and the rest of the Enclave, but that's changed in the past few years.

"Over time they steadily disenfranchised me, stripping me of my abilities until we've reached this point, where I'm completely unable to exercise any of my own power over the Enclave. They've sent this organization down a dark path.

"I always envisioned the Enclave to make something for all the wasteland's people, to bring back the good of America to everyone, but those two just want to take power for themselves; should they gain control, then everyone in the wasteland would be at their mercy, and they are not merciful men.

"Autumn has control over several of the higher-ups in the Enclave, and he's remained popular among the ground troops. Bishop commands his elite group of special agents, some of the best fighters in the entire Enclave, and he thinks of Autumn as his own father.

"Now, I'm little more than and administrative device and a figurehead, but that need not be the case forever. I'm beloved by the common troops and citizens of the Enclave, who know me through my broadcasts. The only problem is, I can't take advantage of that so long as those two are still alive.

There was a pregnant pause, during which the young man could hear only the chatter of his own teeth and the light hum of the computer before him. Oh hell, that was a cue, wasn't it? Well, it wasn't hard to see where the machine was going.

"You want me to kill them?"

"I do. I can't reach out to anyone else in the organization, for fear of hidden loyalty to Autumn or Bishop. I'm sad to say that I no longer command much knowledge over my own personnel. However, I _do_ know precisely where the colonel is at this moment, where he'll be for the next few days. I don't know where Bishop is, but if you can kill Autumn, then Bishop will surely go into either a sloppy rage or a catatonic depression. Either option will leave him vulnerable to a similar fate as the colonel.

"Why though? Why me?" the young man asked.

"You've proven yourself to be exceptionally talented in the ways of war. You're operate outside of the Enclave's operations, and you can potentially be my new surrogate should this be successful. Please, you have to do this. If you do, then I can take back control and end this silly war that Autumn started. We can work together for a better world.

The young man furrowed his brow, lost in thought.

"Listen, I've sent the guards on a witch-hunt throughout the rest of the facility, but Raven Rock isn't the largest place. They'll secure everywhere except for my office, then try and bust down the door to 'rescue' me. You must go, quickly. They can spot you meeting up outside of the facility with your friends, then you can escape."

"My friends?" Could it be? No, Arthur had said he killed them...

"Indeed, those two regulators, along with the kindly super mutant. I've managed to temporarily disable the defensive artillery around Raven Rock, letting them get close. You need to leave, leave and meet up with them. Then find Autumn, who's residing with a small group of confidantes at the Satcom arrays just to the southwest of here. But you have to hurry!

"Hurry!"

…

…

...

""Hurry up!"

"Come on, be quieter... this is a library..."

"Shut it Dove, just hurry up... and don't lose your grip!"

The Lone Wanderer blinked the sleep out of his eyes. Had... had he fallen asleep? No, not really, he'd just dozed off. It was hardly two-forty. Well, as far as dreams went, that wasn't actually the worst to have... thought it likely would've gone horribly downhill soon enough.

He, with a great amount of effort, pried his eyes open all the way and looked around to see what had woken him up. He saw another team, team CRDL, brush past him. They were carrying a large box, filled with who-knows-what. It looked they'd decided to quickly cut through the library, and what had woken him up wasn't the noise, so much as the smell.

Whatever they were carrying, it was rancid. The Lone Wanderer rankled his nose, and he wasn't alone in his disgust. Several other people in the library were also glaring at the boys, but everyone seemed content to let them shuffle out of the room.

They did, and the Lone Wanderer stretched and yawned. The smell would disappear soon enough, and he should be getting some company soon, too...

A gust of wind was what first alerted him to her arrival, followed by a few rose petals that gently fell upon his notes. He idly wondered what Beacon's janitors thought of her, since she littered just about everywhere she went. Where did the petals even come from? Was it magical? Were they derived from her own organic matter? Maybe that was why she ate so much sugar... did it all get turned into rose petals? He eyed one of them. What did it taste like? He should probably try it one time... maybe it would taste like candy...

He took one and popped it into his mouth, before quickly spitting it out. Nope, just tasted like plant. Then what was the point of eating so much sugar and making rose petals, if you couldn't make candy rose petals? Man, if you were able to do that, then you could probably make a fortune...

"Uhhh, Jaune?"

"Oh, that's right, Ruby's here."

"Yeah, I am."

He nodded. "You are." A few seconds later, it occurred to him that, maybe, just maybe, he was being a little weird. "Sorry, just tired," he said as he shook his head and again lightly slapped his face. He tried to take another sip from his coffee, before frowning and shooting the cup a nasty glare. It was empty. Great. He'd have to get some more after their study session.

"Jaune, how much sleep did you get last night?"

"None."

"How much sleep did you get the night before?"

"Like... half an hour."

"Jaune!" Ruby scowled at him and pouted. Heh, she looked cute when she was mad like that, since she was never _really_ mad, and her face just wasn't built to convey anything other than smiles with any sort of effectiveness. He could never imagine her actually being angry. She just wasn't the type...

"Jaune? Are you even listening to me?"

Huh? She was talking? Well, apparently, she was... yeah, yeah she was. He just hadn't noticed. Man, why was he so tired? He'd gone longer with less. Then again, the hadn't gotten a full night's sleep in weeks, and a week of four to five hours of sleep a night, followed by a couple days of no sleep at all, had taken a toll on him.

"Sorry I didn't hear you... let's look over our notes, 'kay? I just want to get it over with." He shuffled through his papers. "How are you feeling about Oobleck's test? Think you'll be ready for it? I think I should do alright."

"You'll fail it if you fall asleep midway through!"

"Hey, I'm not gonna fall asleep, sheesh."

Ruby leaned over him and looked down at his notes. "Jaune... are those notes from today?"

"Yeah."

"I can hardly even read them!"

"They're just a little sloppy, is all."

"A lot of it is nothing but scribbles... you didn't even get half of what he talked about!"

"Hey..." He batted his hand against her shoulder, weakly. The movement was, as all his movements were, sluggish and slow. He felt cold. "Listen, I'm alright. I'll do alright on the test, let's just go through this."

He left his hand on her shoulder as he kept flipping through his notebook, a mindless action done without purpose. He was just flipping page after page after page, because it was the only thing that he could think of doing.

"Jaune, you've promised me, like, a bunch of times that you were going to try and sleep more." She took hold of his hand on her shoulder in both of her own, bringing it down. She kept holding it, however. "This is really worrying."

He looked at her. Her face... now that was bad. That was really bad. She'd gone from a pout to something different, a painful frown with shiny eyes, shiny silver eyes that conveyed a sense of concern that burrowed into him, filled him with a sense of guilt for being the source of her worry.

"Listen... it's not as easy as just sleeping, okay?" He extricated his hand from hers and got back to mindlessly flipping through his notebook. "Let's just get back to studying."

Ruby whined for a moment, looking at him, then looking at everywhere around him in a desperate bid to avoid his face. She nervously wrung her hands together.

Then she stopped looking around. Her gaze settled on something. Her hands stopped shifting. She smiled. "Okay, let's just go over there." She pointed behind him." I like those chairs better than these cruddy wooden ones."

He turned around and looked at what she was gesturing toward. She was pointing at a set of large, plush chairs that surrounded a small, short table. They definitely looked comfy. Yeah, he could see why Ruby might prefer those over the table they were sat at.

He shrugged. "Sure." He gathered his notes and hauled up his backpack. Ruby did the same, and both of them headed towards the seats.

He sat down and sighed as he leaned back. They were certainly comfortable. He dropped his notes on the table and arranged them all in what he hoped was a reasonable sort of organization. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't. He didn't know. Ruby set her things down as well, then tugged on her chair and moved it so that it was right next to his own.

She plopped down and started to organize her things, but she started doing something else, too. She started humming. It was a tune he wasn't familiar with, which wasn't surprising, given he was unfamiliar with nearly everything in this world.

It was a light, pleasant melody. He liked it. Ruby didn't stop as she continued to shuffle through her papers, and had the Wanderer been in a better state of mind, then perhaps he would've noticed how she was shuffling through the same set of papers over and over again, never actually looking at what she was doing.

Her focus was on the humming, of getting the tune right, conveying something saccharine. It worked. He yawned and looked down at his notes, then yawned again and leaned back. There really wasn't much that he could, in this state. Well, he'd still stay awake...

He couldn't fall asleep, for fear of the nightmares. Then again, that fear seemed distant now that Ruby was here. Well, there was the fear of other people doing something to him while he was sleeping. He was in the middle of school, in the middle of the library. Yeah, but he was also right next to Ruby. She'd keep him safe. He trusted her. If he had a nightmare, then he could wake up and she'd be here for him.

He closed his eyes. He wouldn't fall asleep. No, he was just resting his eyes for a moment. He would rest his eyes and enjoy Ruby's soft humming, for just a short moment. Just a moment.

"I'm not going to fall asleep," he quietly mumbled to himself as he fell asleep.

* * *

The moment he woke up, he became aware of a few sensations. The most obvious one was something prodding into his cheek, gently but firmly. However, he didn't dare open his eyes and break the brilliant spell of comfiness that had enveloped him. He was incredibly comfortable, sunken in a plush chair, covered in a nice, soft fabric. Just as pleasing was the scent. The smell of strawberries, sweet and light, reached up to his nose. It was nice.

However, the feeling of something pressing into his cheek was incessant. He groaned and tried to weakly slap it away, but it didn't end. Eventually, he opened his eyes just a crack. He saw the finger that had poked him awake retract, then he saw the face of its owner.

"Hey there, sleepy head," Ruby said. A huge smile split her face. It was pretty.

The Lone Wanderer groaned and rubbed his eyes. He clutched the blanket closer to himself and turned away from Ruby, readjusting back into a comfortable position. He snuggled up with his blanket enjoyed the sweet strawberry scent.

Ruby punched him in the back. "Hey! Come on, it's getting late, and I need to get back to my team."

"Late... how late...?" Surely, he couldn't have been asleep for more than an hour—

"It's almost midnight. The library's open all day, but I want to get back to my bed to sleep."

What!? He jolted upright in his chair and looked around. Sure enough, the library was now entirely devoid of natural light, relying completely on various lamps and the glow from the rows of computers. There were only a few other students in the entire library, and only one librarian behind the counter.

It... it couldn't have been more than three when he went to sleep, and a quick check of the clock showed it was eleven-thirty. Had he seriously slept for over eight hours? No, not only had he slept for that long... he'd slept for that long, and not been accosted by nightmares. He... he actually felt well rested.

That... how...?

He looked to his side, at the girl smiling at him. He fell back into the chair once more. His head dropped, and it was then that he noticed just what, exactly, he'd been using as a blanket.

"You have me your hood?" he asked. The red fabric was surprisingly soft, and it just barely covered an area large enough to cover him fully. It was warm now that it had absorbed and trapped his body heat. It was incredibly comfortable.

"Well, yeah. I was afraid that you might get cold or something, so I threw it over you," Ruby answered with a smile. "I stayed here with you and studied and stuff while you were sleeping." She looked away bashfully. "Well, I studied at first, but I've just been playing video games for the last few hours..." She looked back at him, eyes wide with panic. "But don't tell Weiss! I told her and the others that I was busy just studying, and she'd kill me if she knew that I was here playing video games with you."

He shook his head slowly. "No, no I won't tell anyone." He looked back at her. "Did you really stay here with me?"

She flashed him another smile. "Well, yeah. It's not like I'd just leave you here alone." She looked away and scratched at the back of her head. "But I'm sorry I had to wake you up... it's just too late, and I need to get back to my room, before my team gets worried. You should, too."

"I'm not sure they'd mind much..."

"Well, mine would. And Yang would kill me if she learned I stayed out late with a boy..." Her face darkened into an odd shade of red. "Not like we were even doing anything!"

A thought hit him, a byproduct of all his natural paranoia. He narrowed his eyes, though there was nothing truly poisonous behind them. "You tricked me. You got me over here to these nice chairs to get me to fall asleep..."

"Yup!" Ruby said proudly, bereft of any shame. "I tricked you and made you sleep. Heh, I even hummed the way my mom used to do when I was really little to make me sleep. And it worked!"

The Lone Wanderer didn't know what to think. Maybe it was just the lingering exhaustion that was slowing him down, but he doubted it. There was much more here, a pure kind of shock that had infected his system. She'd stayed here to keep him safe. She'd given him the first full night of sleep he'd had in a month. She'd put out this effort expressly for him.

She...

"Thank you."

Ruby Rose answered with a smile.

Jaune Arc smiled back.

* * *

Winter Schnee was not a squeamish woman. She'd fought on the front lines against the Grimm and the White Fang alike for years, working her way up through the ranks until she reached her current position. All of that entailed a great deal of experience with war and everything related.

But even she was taken aback at the scene before her.

"These were the families of a few of the Atlas military personnel stationed here," a nearby soldier informed her. Atlas soldiers posted abroad were generally accompanied by their family for some portion of the year, and such had been the case here. The men and women here had likely been looking forward to being all-together once more. A vacation to Vale to see your relatives. It should have been nice.

Winter's hand clenched into shivering fists as she watched women and children be gently wrapped in body bags. Gently. All of the personnel on the scene were doing their best to be careful, to not disturb the civilians who'd met the terrible fate none of them deserved.

They stood in the small building that served as civilian quarters. This was where they'd run to in order to hide and be safe. To cower in fear and beg for mercy. Winter sneered and left the room, not wishing to stand the sight any longer.

She marched out of the complex, into the fresh night air that was tinged with the remaining scent of rot, expended dust and flame. Much of the base had been burned down, and her men were busy combing through the ashes to try and get a better idea of what had happened. Then again, it wasn't too hard to imagine what had occurred.

What few buildings remained from the blaze, which they'd determined to have been set only after the attack was done, stood alone and forlorn, filed now not with the personnel who were originally supposed to staff them, but those who'd come to clean up. She stared at one building in particular.

On the side of it, in red spray paint, was embossed the logo of the White Fang.

Winter sneered once more. These monsters. They'd attacked her and her family for years, and now they'd gone out of their way to strike out in what was perhaps the most brutal and brazen offense that they'd yet perpetrated. Stealing the paladins had been a bold move, to be sure, but it was nothing compared to this. That was a strategic move. This was a slaughter. Nothing more, nothing less. A slaughter that had effected civilians in a way that even the White Fang had generally been trying to avoid. Someone had not only struck at the base, but massacred unarmed families of those within, as well as other unarmed workers.

They'd stolen some weaponry, enough to arm a small cell, but this base didn't have anything of any particular value. The only weapons they'd stolen had been what was left in the armory as well as whatever they'd stripped from the soldiers. But surely that couldn't have been the goal of this mission, since plenty of weapons of such caliber could be procured via the black market. There was something else here.

This was a terror attack. They wanted to send a message.

Well, it would never be sent. The scene would be cleaned out, the bodies burned, the ash sent back to the families. It would be labeled a tragic attack by the Grimm, and the White Fang would gain nothing. A cold tactic, for sure, but it was better to be cold than to allow terrorist to get what they want.

Or maybe it _was_ something else. They might've have known that there would be the usual cover-up, so if that was the case, why bother? Perhaps there was something more sinister here. Perhaps this was part of a larger plan. She'd spend many long nights working to uncover it.

The base had been small, little more than an outpost. There were no more than hundred troops stationed there in total, primarily to provide some security to a road that led to a port city further down on the coast. It was a fairly major through-faire, but the Grimm presence had been minimal and only bandits had ever been a problem.

But the base had certainly not been attacked by bandits. Even without the White Fang symbol, it was clear that no bandit group could have done this. It was brutal yet efficient, a quick and professional operation that had struck quickly. It had all the markings of Adam Taurus—literally.

There was evidence of all sorts of weaponry being used, primarily dust rounds and evidence for a crushing weapon, but the most obvious and the most prevalent of all the weapon markings had been slash-marks. Slash marks that all seemed to have the same origin, from a sword of quality make, undoubtedly wielded by someone with their aura unlocked. The slash marks were also all accompanied by scorches, undoubtedly the result of Taurus's particular semblance.

The walls, the ground and most of the corpses were cut and burned with impunity. The civilians, especially. They'd each bore that same kind of wound.

Winter grit her teeth. That monster would pay for this.

* * *

Adam Taurus stalked through the facility. It was an abandoned dust mine, a fittingly ironic place for the White Fang to install one of their cells. It had been a base of theirs for years, harboring one of their Vale cells ever since Sienna Khan first took over and began a more violent campaign.

Well, it seemed that all of that was over now.

Their cell in the area had been slaughtered, and he was only here to oversee the facility's evacuation of material. He'd had to bring in new men for the job, considering everyone who'd previously manned the base was dead.

He sat down on a crate as his surrounding followers went about their work. He pulled out a scroll and searched once more through the photos that had been taken. He'd warned the commander of this cell that he was being sloppy, but the fool had evidently not taken his advice to heart.

Now he'd overextended, and an entire village had payed the price.

It was a small faunus community, no more than a hundred or so, several miles away from the facility. It had once been the town where all the faunus miners had lived, before the mine shut down and the town shrunk, with most of them heading for the city. Now, what family had managed to escape to Vale would have their love ones' ashes shipped to them in the mail.

As was the usual case, the government would be hiding the tragedy. It wasn't just because they were faunus, Adam knew, but he was certain the humans on Vale's council would sleep easier knowing that it was only a few animals that had been killed. It was common practice to never report a brutal attack like this beyond notifying the immediate family of what had happened, to report it as a freak Grimm attack.

What would be unusual, however, was that it wasn't Grimm that slaughtered the whole village and the White Fang cell which had been hiding there, though the government would try and frame that as the case.

Adam looked through the photos that one of his agents had managed to take before the authorities arrived. They were depictions of a massacre. The entire cell, slaughtered and stripped of their weapons, along with all of the civilians. Men, women and children, all of whom had likely been begging for their lives before they were murdered.

He sneered at the sight of it all, and the scroll shook in his hands, so imbued with rage were they. Little kids and their parents, massacred without a second thought. Whoever had done this was just as much a monster as any Grimm. He analyzed the pictures, making out the clear signs of the combat, from bullets holes to great scorch marks that accompanied deep slashes. Most corpses had met the same fate of being cleaved and burned.

Adam would find the monster responsible for this, and he would make him pay.

* * *

 **Oh my, things are getting a little nasty.**

 **This chapter, as well as the last, are shorter, though they still accomplish what I wish them too. I've always been frank that chapter length will vary. Some of them have been extremely long, like chapter 9, which clocks in at 12-thousand words, a pretty ludicrous amount. This fic is already as long as a novel. I chalk up the dip in length to the fact that I have finals and other creative projects drawing on my time. Eh, I still think it's a good amount, and I hope there hasn't been a drop in quality.**

 **Also, happy to say that we have now gotten past the bulk of the edginess in this fic. I've been progressively toning it down for the last few chapters, and I thank everyone for bearing through it with me. I think that his initial behavior is understandable, given all he's been through. However, just being understandable doesn't mean it's justifiable or make him any less of a dick, but I hope that everyone realizes by now that I wasn't just making him out to be angsty because I thought it was cool or edgy.**

 **Now, the narration in his POV has finally referred to him as 'Jaune Arc' for the first time. That's got quite a bit of symbolism behind it.**

 **Anyhow, feel free to review with any critiques or questions. See you this time next week.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Man, this one came out pretty late, sorry about that. It's just that all Friday was spent traveling back home for winter break, then Saturday was spent catching up with my dad, then Sunday was spent with my sister, then Monday was spent finishing this. Welp, it's done now, so enjoy!**

* * *

Jaune Arc's aura dropped into the red with a final, quick swipe that had cut under his guard. He grunted as his knees buckled, the exhaustion and weakness finally dragging him down. He fell back and onto the floor, panting heavily, with a sheen of sweat on his face. His aura was almost completely drained. The Mysterious Magnum was filled only with empty casings, recently expelled. Crocea Mors gently slipped from his tired fingers. He was completely at his opponent's mercy.

Thankfully, his opponent was exceptionally merciful.

"Yippee! I win!" Ruby shouted as she let Crescent Rose fall off to the side in one hand, while pumping the other into the air, formed as a victorious fist. She smiled wide.

However, her triumphant pose couldn't be maintained for long. Her chest was heaving with ragged pants, made all the worse by her lung-emptying victory cry. It was tiring just for her to keep one hand over her head, so much so that she quickly dropped it. In fact, she was so tired that she decided now might as well be as good a time as ever to take a break. Immediately.

She retracted Crescent Rose and stashed it away, before flopping down onto the floor beside Jaune. With a last, shuddering breath, she filled up her lungs, closed her eyes and focused on trying to calm down her breathing back to something manageable.

Both of them were red in the face, covered in sweat, down on aura, breathing heavily and sprawled on the training room floor.

Jaune lazily traced his gaze over to the scoreboard, which kept track of the two's auras. His had entered the red, while Ruby's was still clinging to the yellow, a shade of orange so dark that it was only by the slightest margin that she wasn't in the red herself.

Damn.

"You're really good," Ruby eventually said between pants.

Heh, even in exhaustion, she's uplifting others. Typical Ruby. "Thanks," he said, after a few more breaths of his own. "You're fast."

She mustered a weak laugh, "Well, it's sorta my semblance, y'know?"

"I know." He groaned, feeling all of the stiff, numb parts of his body where she'd hit him with that ridiculous weapon of hers, going at ridiculous speeds. "Oh man, I know..."

"You're a lot better now," Ruby said. "Not like you were ever bad... just clumsy. You've got a hang of things now, like you're more used to it."

That he was. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't been demoralized by his first fight at Beacon, when Pyrrha had so soundly trounced him. She'd barely fallen below the top rank of the green, while driving him to near zero. He'd quickly realized, however, that Pyrrha was in a whole different class than any of them.

He was the Lone Wanderer. He'd spent years in the vault practicing his fighting skills, then he'd spent a year in the wasteland, honing those skills and building upon them to be a brutal killing machine.

Pyrrha Nikos had been raised from birth to be a champion. The latest in a long line of Mistralian tournament fighters, she'd spent her entire life working for this exact goal, working to be the best. He'd read an article on what her life had been back in Mistral and... man. Her routine had been strict and demanding to an extreme.

In fact, the only other person who he could he think of that outmatched her when it came to being a living weapon would be Bishop Beauvais himself, who'd had spent literally every minute of his entire life micromanaged to create the perfect human fighter.

The point was, Pyrrha was the human embodiment of skill. Most were not. That's not to say that they were unskilled, oh no. Everyone at Beacon was a formidable fighter, which was an understandable requirement for those who'd gotten into one of Remnant's most prestigious schools. Still, some were better than others. For example, team CRDL were fairly low on the totem pole, whereas teams RWBY and JNPR were the best in the year. Pyrrha was on top.

He had to give them credit. Everyone at Beacon had gotten there through hard work and dedication, even the most detestable types like Cardin, who Jaune had never seen be anything but mean. And it wasn't even _his_ kind of mean. No, the Lone Wanderer had never gone out of his way to torment people for his own amusement. He'd only wanted people to leave him alone.

Jaune shook his head. Cardin reminded him of Butch, and that made him dislike him. Simple.

Still, he had to admit that Cardin was skilled and deserved to be here, along with everyone else. Pyrrha was the most exceptional, but everyone deserved some praise. Certainly, CRDL had endured their hardships, and credit had to be given where credit was due.

RWBY was filled with some of the best in the grade, as was JNPR. Jaune Arc was more than willing to praise them.

And everyone had their own reasons for being there.

Ruby had told him about how she and her sister had grown up for years seeking to help people the way their parents had, how they'd started to train earlier than most. Their conviction had appeared early, and it had remained strong, driving them to the top. It was especially impressive for Ruby, who was two years younger than most. She was fifteen, with half a year left until sixteen (as she was keen to remind him). Certainly, they, and many others, had come there for reasons better than his.

He looked at her now. She'd closed her eyes to rest. The redness in her face had subsided, now replaced with a pleasant rosiness. Heh... rosy.

Yes, well, crappy jokes aside, she let herself relax as he had, and her breathing had now evened out more, though she was certainly still tired. More than him, certainly. Jaune had an advantage over just about everyone when it came to stamina. His time in the wasteland had enabled him to work harder for longer, with less amenities like food, sleep or water. It seemed that even his aura coincided with this, being a larger pool than normal. It also helped enhance his strength, a strength rivaled only by people like Cardin, Yang, Nora and Pyrrha, a strength developed through hauling steel in the Pitt, carrying supplies across vast distances, pushing back against supermutant assaults—a strength developed through surviving the harshest of conditions.

Miss Goodwitch had realized this and advised him to bring it into his fighting, to incorporate his strength and his stamina into a unique style. He relentlessly bashed at his opponent's defenses to try and break through their guard or tire them out, for he'd win in a battle of attrition. His favorite trick was keeping up the constant pressure until his opponent became tired enough, distracted enough, weak enough, that he got his opening. Several of his fights had ended with him setting his enemies into a lock and jamming Croce Mors against them, which would rip through their aura in no time.

Even as he was developing his new style over the last month, he'd fared well. He'd only lost two matches since his first fight with Pyrrha. The first had been against Cardin, in a long and brutal bout during their second week that had been an incredibly close match. A good fight, good enough that his opponent had given him a nod and a handshake after it was done. Cardin didn't respect many things, like faunus or women or anyone scrawny, but he respected strength.

He'd progressed quickly enough, however, that he would now surely beat Cardin handily. It had always just been a matter of adapting and merging his skills from Earth with the new environment of Remnant. Hell, he'd very nearly beaten Ruby just now. He'd nearly beaten Weiss too, the only other person to have bested him in sparring class. However, the heiress was skilled and _highly_ motivated to kick his ass.

At this point, he was easily in the top ten percent of battle class. Being in the top ten percent of fighters at a place so prestigious as Beacon meant that he was easily in the top one percent of fighters in all of Remnant, at least when it came to people his age.

His goals for coming to Beacon had been completed. He was an excellent fighter now, as proficient as the school could make him right now. He could leave now and build upon his skills, just as he had built upon his vault training back on Earth. Ruby and he had upgraded the magnum and even looked over Crocea Mors to make sure everything was in good order.

He could leave.

He glanced at Ruby again.

He wouldn't.

Wait, won't what?

I won't go.

Go where?

Away. Anywhere. Anywhere that isn't here. I'm staying.

Why not? You always said you would?

Well... I... wait, that's it!

"Hey Ruby, wanna go to armory?"

The girl rushed to her feet in a flurry of red.

"Of course I do!"

Undoubtedly, her body had protested against her quick movements. Her muscles still probably ached, and judging from the slight panting, her lungs still hadn't exactly gotten back on track. Nevertheless, the mention of weaponry had gotten her on her feet and instilled her with excitement.

Jaune liked to think that some of that excitement was purely due to him, too.

* * *

"So what's this super-secret project?" Ruby asked.

"You'll just have to wait and see," Jaune replied with a smirk.

Ruby pouted and mumbled something under her breath. He thought that he caught words like 'unfair' and 'mean' in there mixed in with a few general grumblings, but Ruby didn't make any significant protest.

They'd walked together and chatted on their way to the armory. Under one arm, Jaune held his duffel bag, the very same one that he'd brought with him from Earth, that he'd now recovered from rocket locker. He'd used to think that it was a high-quality piece of equipment, though his time in Remnant now had him perceiving it as a ratty piece of junk. It was. Well, to an extent. Both his bag and the Gamma Shield armor were in great condition... for the Wasteland. For Remnant? Not so much.

All of his old belongings were covered with clear marks of wear and age: patches from where they'd been repaired, scratches from accidents and attacks alike, rust and stains of dirt just to name a few. The bag looked terrible, but its contents were worse off.

Well, hopefully that wouldn't be the case for long.

The two of them continued to walk down through the halls with a comfortable quiet between them. Those around them didn't bat a single eye at the odd pair walking together. There was a six-foot tall boy with one eye bloodshot and scarred, a menacing and antisocial air about him. Then there was a girl that smiled and half-skipped everywhere she went, who was hardly half a foot taller than five and who looked to be enjoying the simple act of being alive.

A few people had given the two strange glances in the first few weeks, glances which he'd caught with his own paranoid glare. Now, however, no one batted an eye at what had become a common sight. Seeing Ruby with him was as common as seeing her with her own team, or...

"Hey Ruby?"

"Hm?"

"Do you have, like, any friends in Beacon besides me and your team?"

She shook her head. "Nope. I never really got around to it, I guess. My team's great, and you're great, too. Maybe you should introduce me to your team? I bet they're pretty cool."

He winced. "They uhh... keep to themselves. But seriously, you don't have anyone else?"

"Well, I have my friends back at Signal."

Ah yes, the gang from Signal, as Ruby called them. She'd mentioned them to him a few times, though Jaune had never seen them himself, either through a visit, or a video call, or a letter, or... anything, really.

"Do you still talk to them a lot?"

"Well, I sent them a letter in the first week, and I've sent them out a few since then, too. Haven't gotten anything back." She shrugged and smiled. "I guess there's just not a lot for them to talk about, or they're all trying to coordinate in a big letter, or something. I dunno. I sent my letter to my dad, who's a teacher there, and he told me that he got them and handed them over." She shrugged again. "So I know they got them. I guess it's just taking them a while to reply back."

"Have you talked to any of them by scroll, at least?"

She shook her head. "Nope. Funny thing, I didn't even realize that I didn't have any of their scroll numbers before I was getting ready to leave for Beacon. Then I went around and asked everybody, but I wasn't actually able to get them." Her brow furrowed. "They all had reasons not to give me their numbers... pretty unlucky, right?"

She chuckled nervously.

"Yeah, I was just unlucky. They're good people, though. Good friends. So I know that they'll be sending back a letter of their own soon enough. I know it... anyway, here's the armory."

Sure enough, they'd arrived at the suitably dreary armory. Someone really needed to spruce up the place, maybe throw in a bit of color other than grey. Put in some scented candles or something. Or, maybe just add in a Ruby Rose, who'd be so amazed by all the equipment and weaponry that her elation become downright infectious, a smile spreading to your face too.

Jaune smiled as he watched Ruby descend into her nerdy love of weaponry, ogling everyone else's equipment as they made their way to their own table. Jaune hauled up the duffel bag on top, and Ruby's attention was immediately set on it. She sat down at her stool, but only used the edge of it, leaning close to his bag. He opened it and pulled out the contents.

"This," he began, "is Metal Blaster." He carefully arranged the weapon's warped and bent pieces on the table. "It's a laser rifle, where the laser is produced here," he pointed at the now cracked and fried wave/particle diverter, "and then ran through this series of mirrors and prisms." He pointed at the center and end of the barrel, which were filled with the shattered remains of the aforementioned crystals. "Then it'd come back out the end in the form of several lasers all at once."

"Ooooohh," Ruby said, both entranced and saddened by the weapon's sorry state.

"Now _this_ ," Jaune continued, reaching into the bag to pull out the rest, "is Enclave's Bane. It was the first Tesla Cannon ever made. It charged up energy here," he lifted the intact tesla coil, "then channeled it down the barrel until it came out like a lightning bolt.

"Now, obviously, neither of these is in good shape."

"You can say that again," Ruby said with a sad shade of her head. "They're ruined." Her face... he'd never seen her so sad, so truly sad at the sight of such precious and incredible works of art being destroyed. She tilted her head and scrutinized the remains further.

" _Most_ , of them are ruined." He pointed at Metal Blaster. "You can see that most of the actual frame here is intact, just that the inner working are fried or busted." He pointed at Enclave's Bane. "Here, you can see that it's sorta the opposite problem. The tesla coil that powers it is intact, but most of the gun's frame is destroyed."

Ruby caught on instantly. "Wait... couldn't you maybe, combine them?"

"Maybe, just maybe."

Her eyes filled with a bright, excited light, as she suddenly leaned over the guns and scrutinize them. "Yeah... yeah... wait... these are weird, like, _really_ weird." She turned back to him, face set in a picture of confusion. "I haven't seen anything like this sort of technology... ever!"

He shrugged. "It's unique to where I come from. But don't around telling everyone that I've got weird tech, alright?"

"My lips are sealed!" She dutifully brought one hand up to her mouth, then crossed it over her lips and twisted it, then flicked her fingers away, the action mimicking one locking a door and throwing away the key. "Now come on, tell me everything, _everything,_ about this stuff!"

He chuckled. "Well, for starters, this is a tesla coil..."

* * *

"I'm surprised he didn't tell you," Ruby said. "I mean, he's on your team and everything."

"Well..."

I've treated my team like shit from day one.

"He sorta keeps things to himself sometimes."

Ruby nodded. She and Jaune were packing up the equipment that he'd brought, as well as all the tools they'd been using from the armory. It had felt good to be on the other side of the table this time around. At first, Ruby had had to explain to him all of the tools and tech of this world, but now, he'd had the chance to tell her all about Earth's technology. That's not to say he also mentioned the teensy-tiny, itty-bitty little fact that he's from another planet, of course. He simply said that where he was from, the wasteland, they did things differently. Ruby was trusting enough and content enough to believe him.

As it was, however, they weren't talking anymore about his weaponry. He'd mentioned how some of the oil they'd been using smelled bad, and Ruby had said, "well, not as bad as CRDL smelled the other day."

Then he enquired, and then she asked why Ren hadn't told him what happened, and then here they were.

"Well, apparently CRDL had decided to be even _meaner_ to Velvet then they already have," she said with a scowl. "So they went and got a box full of rotten carrots, and they were gonna dump it on her. I think they were trying to get revenge for how her team went and beat them up the other day. Pretty stupid, since that'd just make them get it worse." She shook her head, detesting both their stupidity and the cruel racism. "Well, Ren saw them and dashed in right at the last second, then kicked the box and sent all the carrots back on them!"

She smiled. Jaune did, too. He'd never liked racists.

"Heh, I can just imagine the looks on their faces. They tried to get Ren then, but Velvet jumped and beat them back, then Miss Goodwitch came and everybody got detention for fighting in school!" Ruby chuckled. "It's a little funny how you can get in trouble for fighting at a school where you're being taught how to fight, isn't it?"

"Yeah, a little bit." He shook his head. "Ren is... he's a good guy."

I wish I knew him better.

Ruby nodded. "Yeah, it must be nice to be on a team with him."

I bet it would be.

The two of them finished putting their things away, then left the armory.

"So now what should we do?" Jaune asked.

"Well, I have to go and meet up with my team. Weiss and Yang want to try and coordinate what we're all gonna be wearing to the dance... even though it's in months." She sighed. "But that's my team for you..."

"Dance? There's a dance here?"

"Yup, the big dance. It's at the end of second quarter, right before the first-years go on their first missions. It should be pretty fun... if only I can convince Yang and Weiss not to put me in heels..."

Jaune laughed. "I dunno, I think it'd be pretty funny to watch you stumble across the dance floor."

Ruby pouted and punched him in the arm. "Not funny! It won't be funny at all! Those things are terrible! I don't know how everyone manages to fight in them!"

"Me neither," Jaune said with a shake of his head. "I know how hard it is to walk in them. Once, I was talking with my friend Amata, and I said that they couldn't be that bad. So, she made me try them on." He winced at the memory. "I fell face-first on the floor... had a black eye for a week."

Beside him, Ruby descended into giggles. The giggles descended into full blown laughter, and she stopped to lean on the wall beside her. "T-that's... that's too good!" She pointed at him and kept laughing hysterically.

He could only smile and shake his head, baring the shame that really didn't bother him so much. If anyone else in Beacon, in all of Remnant, had treated him like this, then he wouldn't have put up with it for a single second. Well, no one besides Qrow, since the man had saved his life. He could easily see the drunkard uproariously losing it in the same manner to the same story.

Jaune blinked and looked at Ruby again. She really did remind him of Qrow a little bit, from the carefree attitude to the scythe. Huh, maybe there was some kind of connection between the two...?

Nah.

"Alright, alright, come on," he said, pulling on Ruby's hood to drag her off the wall. "It really isn't that funny anyhow."

"But it is!"

"Well... maybe a little bit..."

He chuckled just as her laughter died down.

"So what do you know about this dance?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Pretty much just what I told you. I think it's supposed to be pretty fancy, though. I only ever went back to one dance, in Signal, and people dressed up a little bit, but no dresses or suits or anything. I know everyone's gonna have to wear things nicer than that."

The two started walking again, and Jaune added, "I've never been to a dance myself. There was a graduation dance for seniors at my school... but I left town before then. I've danced in general though, at parties."

"Really? Are you any good at dancing?"

"People have told me I am... heh, the last big party I went to, I danced with everybody." He smiled at the memory. It was the party celebrating the Coalition's victory at Raven Rock. Eden was destroyed and the Enclave's primary base annihilated. An incredible win for everyone. And it really had been everyone.

The Coalition had been formed out of the Brotherhood and the Outcasts, who'd put their differences aside just long enough to kill the Enclave. After the war, they'd go back to being at each other's throats, but they were able to get along long enough to see Adams Air Force Base taken. The Regulators had also put aside their rivalry with the Brotherhood to join in. Rivet City sent out a detachment of their forces, and other volunteers from all over the wasteland came in, driven by the promise of water for all and the destruction of the Enclave, who'd become increasingly militant. It wasn't hard to bring wastelanders to their side after Raven Rock, where records of the Enclave's atrocities were kept.

It was after that very same battle where he'd managed to have the last big party he'd ever gone to. Heh, he'd danced with Jane for a while, before John showed off his protective streak. Everybody knew he didn't think about Jane that way, but brothers were brothers. So, naturally, he'd then danced with John for a while, too. Then he'd even pulled aside Fawkes for a waltz, and Dogmeat had leapt around on the dance floor, not one to be left out of the festivities. Some of the scribes had even programmed Liberty Prime to do the robot for all of them. Sarah had proven herself surprisingly good at the tango...

"Jaune, are you okay?" Ruby asked.

"Wha? Yeah, yeah I'm fine," he said, quickly rubbing his eyes to pre-eminently crush the tears forming there. "I'm fine, it's just that my eye acts up sometimes. It hurts."

Ruby nodded, believing with the lie. Or maybe she didn't, and she was just content to let him have his privacy. Perhaps she knew it would be fruitless to try and dig it out of him, since he'd always been so reserved.

"Yeah, I bet it does... how did you even get it, if you don't mind telling me?"

"What, my scar?"

"Yeah, though you don't have to tell if you don't want to."

"Eh, not much of a story. I just got it in a fight. I've been in a lot of fights, after all."

* * *

The Lone Wanderer sat on the cliff beside Beacon, looking out over the Emerald Forest, legs swinging off the side. The sun was low and cast a beautiful shine on the forest, making it glow a light green. When he wasn't at the garden, he often stopped off here. It satisfied his desire to be alone and around nature.

Besides being peaceful, it was more isolated than the garden, and that meant he was able to take a smoke.

The tip of his cigarette burned brightly as he took a drag, then let the smoke billow out from his mouth. It was a favored past-time, sitting on the edge of a cliff, looking out over the beautiful forest, relaxing after a day of training and studying.

Life was nice.

His right eye felt irritated, as if something had gotten stuck in it, all around it. He would've moved a hand up to rub out the offending article, had he not realized a long time ago that that wouldn't work. He simply sighed and took another drag. It really wasn't that bad a burn, mostly sticking to the area around his eye, stretching out over his cheekbone. The eye itself, a dark red with a blot of black in the middle.

He sighed and let out another cloud of smoke. He'd gotten to thinking about it, ever since Ruby mentioned it earlier that afternoon. He idly tapped the side of his cigarette as he let his mind drift, drift further and further away from the present, back into the past...

He fired his plasma rifle, but it missed.

Well, it missed Autumn's head, instead contacting the laser pistol he held up just beside. The Colonel swore and snarled, aiming the weapon back at the young man just as he ran out of MF cells for his rifle.

His eyes widened as Colonel Autumn pulled the trigger.

For a second—no, a fraction of a second—it appeared as if the pistol wouldn't fire, as if it'd been too damaged from the plasma shot. It spluttered and died... before letting loose a red, smoky haze and a fractured, faint blast of crimson light that shot straight towards him.

The young man screamed as he fell back, clutching his face, an unbearable agony ripping through his head. He squirmed and writhed on the ground.

"No!" It was Fawkes. He heard the big guy yell, then he heard the sound of his gatling-laser ripping through the air above him with bolts of energy. He heard Colonel Autumn scream and collapse.

Around them, John and Jane finished off the last of the Colonel's men, gunning down a final soldier before doubling back. The young man felt their hands on his shoulders, gently pulling him up into a sitting position, then prying his hands away.

"Hey, it's alright, buddy, we gotcha," Jane cooed. She looked into his eye, though he could only see her doing that through his other one, vision clouded and blurry from tears. "Son of a bitch nailed you... though his heater's too busted to kill you, thank God..."

She kept close to him as she looked into his wound, and he tried to focus on anything else beside the pain. He ended up focusing on another person's pain: Colonel Autumn. It sounded like Fawkes and John were giving him a pretty hard time.

He heard whining too, as Dogmeat pressed close to his side, pressing his muzzle into his hand and gently licking his fingers.

Heh, such a good boy.

So there he lay, in the middle of the floor, surrounded by computers and dead bodies, mostly unarmored scientists who'd scrambled for weapons when they stormed the satcom array's central room. After attacking the sentries outside, they attacked Autumn and his men within. The area was secure, and only the Colonel himself was left alive.

After a few minutes and a drop or two from a stimpak, the young man was back on his feet, though with one hand covering his eye, which Jane said may or may not be savable, depending on how fast they could meet up with the Brotherhood to get it fixed.

He had something to do, before then.

Colonel Autumn lay on the floor, clutching the wounds at his stomach, where Fawkes had nearly gutted him with a blast from his gatling laser. His face was covered in his own blood, from where Fawkes and John had battered him.

The young man smiled and kicked him in the side of the head, earning a satisfied groan of pain. Dogmeat stood beside him, bristling and growling.

"This is the end of the line for you, you piece of shit," he said, then spat down onto the Colonel. "We'll kill you here, then we'll find and kill your little pet, Bishop."

"My... pet...?"

"Yeah, I had a talk with Eden. He told me all about you and Bishop, how the two of you've taken power in the Enclave for yourself. Bishop's like your son, right? Well, I'm glad to know I killed his father just like he killed mine and... and why are you laughing?"

Sure enough, Colonel Autumn had started to darkly chuckle to himself, though the extent of his mirth was limited both the intangible brevity of the situation, as well the incredibly tangible pain that had been inflicted upon him.

"God... now I know how you little shits found me... now I know what's happening..."

"Yeah, Eden turned on you. We'll give him back power to the Enclave, then settle a peace. You're done."

This only managed to make Autumn laugh harder, no matter the pain.

"Jesus Christ, you're stupid... I see what this is now... it's a hit job, and you got roped right into it, kid." He shook his head and looked up to the young man, staring him in the eye. "That genocidal toaster's got you wrapped around his finger..."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm saying, you got tricked. Whatever Eden told you is a lie... I haven't been taking power from him, and I certainly haven't been working with that psycho, Bishop." He stopped laughing and the smile fell from his face, instead twisting in pain as a fresh wave of agony crashed through him. "God... those two have been working against me for years, but I didn't think they'd be so brazen as to outright assassinate me... should've know better... known better..."

"Don't listen to him," John said. "He's probably just lying, maybe trying to get us to spare him."

"Does it look like I'm lying to you, fool?" Autumn spat. "No... I'm dead... I'm not stupid... though you are. Bishop's not my pet... he's Eden's. That godforsaken calculator's raised that little prick since he was a baby."

"What?"

Autumn nodded. "Ask anyone in the Enclave... they all know about Bishop's past. The past of Eden's precious, 'perfect human'. We found him in a vault designed to breed super-soldiers. We were going to recruit them, but a critical failure in the vault's system left carbon monoxide in the air. Everyone was poisoned... except for a baby that had been kept in a special oxygen chamber to help develop his lungs."

"Bishop..."

"You got it. We took him in, and Eden took him for himself. That toaster knew he'd need someone he could trust as a surrogate ruler... so he's raised Bishop his whole life. He's raised him to be a good little genocidal psychopath...

"I've been controlling a more moderate faction of the Enclave for years... the group that just wants to establish law and order over the people of the wasteland. But Eden and Bishop?" He shook his head. "Those two want a cleansing. They want to destroy everyone and everything that's still alive so they can resettle and start anew, with only pure humans."

Colonel Autumn lazily lifted his head and looked around at his group of murderers. "And now you've gotten rid of their main rival." He nodded his head to a different part of the room, and when the young man looked, he saw a security camera set into the wall.

"They'll probably take the footage and show it around, show everyone the death of the brave and heroic Colonel Autumn at the hands of impure savages, make me into a martyr... their martyr... bastards. They could just kill me and my allies, but then there'd be repercussions against them. Now... now they can just use me for their own support."

He shook his head again, slowly letting it fall to the side to rest against the floor. "You idiots... idiots..."

Autumn became silent.

The door to the room smashed open. Who could it be, other than Bishop, with his terrible, despicable smile. Behind him, stood his contingent of soldiers. Just beside him, Arthur menacingly hefted his super sledge.

"Men, we have some assassins to dispatch," Bishop said.

Jaune shook his head and took another drag from his cigarette. What a goddamn fool he'd been. Eden had tricked him and used him for his own purposes, finally mending the political split in the Enclave and securing power for himself and his 'son'.

After Bishop's counter ambush, he and his companions had barely managed to take cover and escape through a sewer grate. Yet again, they'd been forced to flee underground, like rats. Bishop had that effect.

He smiled. But then they'd turned it all around. They'd liberated the memorial, then attacked Raven Rock. The Brotherhood scribes had managed to dig up the code used for activating the 'cleansing' sequence for ZAX computers that wiped their memory and shut them down. He'd personally worked alongside the Lyons Pride and led his group into the Raven Rock to kill Eden.

And kill him they had. Then they'd dismantled him and destroyed every piece of that genocidal toaster that could've been used to bring him back. Wherever Bishop had been at the time, he'd certainly been in pain. For he'd payed the bastard back in kind.

A father for a father...

"Hey Jaune!"

Well, time to get away from the past.

"Hey Ruby," he called back with a wave and a smile. "Watcha doing here?"

"Oh, just thought I'd go out into the Emerald Forest and give a quick field-test to some of the new tuning I gave Crescent Rose. My team's actually back over there," she pointed behind her with her thumb. Sure enough, he could see the blonde, white and black of her teammates. "Then I saw you sitting over here and though I'd... say... hi..."

Jaune raised an eyebrow as her words trailed off, then followed her gaze with his own, until his eyes were looking down at his own cigarette.

"You smoke?"

"Yeah," Jaune answered, taking another drag. "I've smoked for a while, you didn't know?"

"No," she shook her head. "You never brought it up. Well, I noticed that you have really bad breath, but I just thought that you didn't brush your teeth or something."

He winced. Alright, he actually didn't brush his teeth, though the cigarettes probably made it worse. Was his breath really that bad? She'd noticed? What did she think of that? Well, obviously she didn't think very highly...

"Why?"

"Huh?"

"Why do you smoke?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I just started to. I can't tell you exactly when. I just... did. Maybe it was after the Air Force Base... probably was..." Most of his less healthy habits had been made after that.

"Well, you really shouldn't..."

"Heh, you're not the first person to tell me that," he replied, once more thinking of Qrow.

"No, I'm serious. That'll kill you..." She shook her head quickly, her voice had taken on an airy quality with her last few words.

He chuckled darkly. "I'll be dead long before the cigs get to me..."

"Nope!"

"What?"

"Nope!"

"I don't understa—"

"Nope!"

"But—"

"Nope!"

Ruby marched forward and slowly pushed the hand that held the cigarette further away from his face, then she pivoted and pressed one finger against his forehead. "Nope!" She shook her head. "That's not true. You're gonna live for a long time, and we'll be friends for a long time, and smoking will hurt your lungs and make you live shorter. Soooooo... nope!"

She ignored his indignant protest as her hand flicked out and knocked the cigarette from his grip. Its ember winked out of life as it fell onto the ground beside him, smothered in the dirt.

He turned back to her angrily, about to say a few less-than-kind words. The look on her face killed them in his mouth, however. It was sad. It was a sad, raw look that conveyed nothing but concern. Again, she was going and showing naked concern for him. It rendered him silent.

"Please Jaune? Just think it over... I want you to live for a long time." She smiled at him, "Okay?"

"Hey Ruby, hurry it up! You're the one who dragged us out here!" Yang shouted.

Ruby sighed and looked over her shoulder. She spared Jaune a final glance and said, "Just think it over please?"

He nodded.

She smiled.

Then she turned her back and left him with nothing but rose petals.

* * *

The Lone Wanderer glared at someone who dared get too close to him.

He was walking through school, heading back to the forest and his cave after getting in a bit more studiying at the library. The sun was setting, leaving everything in an orange haze. He kept his hands close in front of him, ready to react against anyone and everyone who dared confront him. No one did.

Jaune Arc sighed and thought back to what Ruby had recently told him. Meh, not like he cared. It was true, that he'd die a long time before the cigarettes ever managed to take him. After he left Beacon, he'd be returning to a dangerous life. Even if he never left, even if he graduated and became a huntsman and spent the rest of his life alongside Ruby, it'd be a dangerous one. Though it might be nice to spend it with someone like her—

No. No. No. No.

No.

No.

NO.

He was leaving. He was leaving... he just needed to wait for Ruby to help him make his new weapon. Only Beacon and Ruby would have the resources and the expertise necessary for him to craft it, and he didn't want to throw away such a resource.

So he'd stay. For the weapon. Only the weapon. That was the only reason—

Someone crashed into him.

The Lone Wanderer snarled and threw the person down to the ground. He didn't have his weapons on him, so he brandished his fists and stood before the assailant, ready to pounce.

"Oh! Sorry, I—" The guy looked up at him, eyes widened in fear when he realized just who he'd run into. It was the same scrawny boy he'd seen in class the other day, staring at Pyrrha. "I-I wasn't doing anything, man! I'm not doing anything!"

The student scrambled on the ground away from him, hands up and empty. Though it seemed to take the kid a few seconds to realize that his hands were, indeed, empty, because his eyes widened and he looked at his fingers, bereft of any objects. His eyes tracked the floor around them quickly, then stopped on what he'd dropped.

It was an orange comb that held a few stray hairs in its teeth. Long, crimson hairs.

He snatched it up and scrambled up to his feet.

"I wasn't doing anything! I'm not doing anything!" he frantically told the Lone Wanderer.

Then the boy turned around and took off down the hall. The Wanderer wasn't the only one who was looking after him with a confused gaze.

"That was weird," he muttered to himself. He turned to his side to see just where the kid had bolted out of so quickly, and what he saw gave him a decent explanation.

The girls' locker room.

The Lone Wanderer furrowed his brow. Maybe they guy had walked in on accident, then fervently tried to run out and avoid mortification? Or, maybe, he'd gone in like a creep and freaked when his escape was put in jeopardy. Given his panic, the Wanderer was putting his money on the latter option.

He shook his head. Weirdos would be weirdos... but something about that comb he'd seen, something about it gave him an uneasy feeling.

He chewed on this inside of his cheek. It was probably nothing. Just distract yourself.

As he left the school's premises, he turned a dial on his pip-boy, tuning back into the news. He listened to Lisa Lavender's now familiar voice. Right about now, she should be doing her wrap-up on city politics for the week.

"Polling projections expect the New Dawn to reach the 5% electoral threshold necessary to get seats on the council, after next year's elections..."

* * *

The Lone Wanderer grunted and set his bag down on the floor of his little cave. He worked the kinks out of his shoulder, which had been smashed against a tree when he'd been flung through the air by a beowolf's surprise attack. This was just another way for him to practice his skills: getting to sleep.

Ugh, at least he didn't have to spend time with his team... bare their accusing, hateful looks.

He kicked off his boots and shed his clothing down to the underwear, then turned off the light on his pip boy and stretched out on his light, thin blanket. It wasn't close to comfortable, and he thought back, not for the first time, to the nice beds that Beacon had provided. He'd only slept in those for... two days? Three?

He shook his head. Best not to think of that. Or his team. Just go through your nightly routine. Stretch out for a bit, relax, then take a cigarette and have one last smoke at the cave entrance before coming back in to go to sleep.

His hands reached over and pulled up his discarded pants. He rooted through the pockets until he pulled out a small carton of cigarettes. Ruby's face flashed through his mind. He lazily tossed the case back on the floor of the cave.

He could go a night without smoking.

He leaned back and sighed, letting his muscles rest against the hard, cold, stone floor. It wasn't too bad, really. He'd slept in much worse conditions.

The last few days had seen him sleeping much easier, as well. He got at least five hours of sleep every night now. He'd even gotten one with eight. It was still restless slumber, and he still got up a few times a night, but at least he was able to get back to sleep, at least he was able to actually feel rested.

He'd had an idea after his rest in the library with Ruby, just a few days back. He'd even done some research, which showed that his idea may have some merit. It definitely, helped, that was for sure. He was still accosted at night by unpleasantness, but everything was much more bearable now. Aromatherapy really worked.

He turned a dial on the little vaporizer he'd bought out in Vale, then poured in a few drops of his chosen scent. It slowly propagated throughout his little cave, soothing and familiar.

He fell asleep to the smell of strawberry.

* * *

 **A few of the subplots that I've been setting up the last few chapters are advanced, and soon it will pay off. I expect to reach forever fall in chapter fifteen, then we get into Blake's disappearance arc after that.**

 **Also, keep looking at how the narration refers to Jaune, since he'll be called either Jaune or the LW depending on what situation he's in as well as who he's with.**

 **Anyhow, I'll try to get back onto the Sunday publishing schedule for next chapter. All reviews and questions are, as always welcomed and appreciated!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Alright, time for some clarification. I've been asked a few times now about what Jaune's semblance will be. It will be the same as in canon. I see no purpose in changing it, especially since a semblance is often representative of a person's character, and Jaune remains the same person at heart in this fic as in canon.**

 **With that out the way, let's enjoy the next installment, shall we?**

* * *

The Lone Wanderer was trapped in the dark room.

It wasn't an unfamiliar scene for him, though it was a hated one. The blackness was all-encompassing, blotting out any vision of anything. He could see nothing. Not the bangs he could feel tapping against his forehead, or the fists he held up in front of him, or the enemies he knew were lurking.

Oddly, he was actually able to move this time around. His gaze darted about, straining in the endless night to see something, anything, that would give him a clue as to where his adversary was, since he was surely there.

Bishop was always there.

A low chuckle emanated from, well, everywhere. It vibrated through the air, a slow, constant beat. The Wanderer whirled around wildly trying in vain to see some kind of source, something, anything, would give away his target.

There was nothing.

"Funny, funny, funny. How funny you are."

His skin crawled as an abnormal chill crept through him. The voice came in the form of a whisper, but a whisper that descended from every angle, every direction. It suffocated him, like a swarm of radroaches crawling out of innumerable cracks and rushing in upon him, everywhere.

"You piece of shit, where are you!"

He received no answer, aside from another deep chuckle which sent shivers up his spine.

His nerves were tense and energized, like white-hot metal in a forge, screaming with power and heat. He waited. He waited and waited for the attack he knew would come.

It never came.

He stewed and seethed, able to do nothing but be on guard, keep his fists raised, his eyes open, his ears strained. He did this, and he blocked out the cold facts that prodded at the back of his mind, the facts that told him Bishop could break through his guard in a second, that he could sneak up upon him without making the slightest sound, that he'd be able to emerge from the darkness without giving so much as a fleeting glimpse in warning.

He had no chance. Deep down, he knew that. Deep down, he knew many things, though he'd never let that stop him from ignoring them.

Suddenly, he was blinded by an incredibly flash. A yellow light, with the shade and the vigor of the freshly-risen sun, cut through the darkness and seared his eyes with its power. He cried out and brought his hands up to cover his face, and only a second later, did he realize the terrible mistake.

He'd left himself wide open in the distraction.

He pulled back, brought his arms close to himself, prepared a sloppy defense, braced himself for the attack he knew would come, the inevitable assault that he also knew to be indomitable, no matter how much he fought; Bishop would come, and Bishop would win.

That was just what Bishop did.

So the Lone Wanderer prepared in that moment, prepared to face defeat with all the strength and defiance he could muster.

Nothing came.

Not another whisper, not another laugh, certainly not another beating.

He was left alone once more, left to wait, fists raised and shaking from the cold and the adrenaline, lungs strained from the baited breath.

He waited, but there was nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

What there was, however, was light. For the first time, the dark room had a light. His eyes slowly adjusted to the change, a welcome one. The light was soft and natural, comforting. It was also extremely dim, and had only possessed such a powerful effect by virtue that, for a single glorious moment, it was an overwhelming flicker in a dark void which had never known such an effect.

Not anymore. The Wanderer adapted and brought the light into his vision, but he had to stave off his wonder. He couldn't allow the magnificent glimmer to distract him. Bishop was there. He was somewhere. He was always there, somewhere, anywhere.

Everywhere.

Yet still, nothing came. He was left with only the sound of his own shallow, ragged breaths, the shuffle of his feet, the slimy, agitated movements of his tongue. There was a silence, and his anxiety waned.

Could there really be nothing?

For a moment, his eyes strayed toward the light, before he quickly snapped them back into his paranoid rhythm of checking and rechecking and strafing the impenetrable dark for any sign of the enemy.

However, time and time again, his gaze fell back to the light. Time and time again, before he finally spared a long look in its direction. It was a pretty, golden kind of light, the prettiest he'd ever seen. It came not from one source, but two. A small dot, then a thin, horizontal line below that.

The majesty and mystery of the sight enraptured him, such that he could not again tear his vision away. He felt something in his chest, something that he hadn't felt in a long time. It was a strange lightness, an idiosyncratic sensation that denoted the pleasant presence of nothing bad, nothing wrong. It was a feeling that rang where his heart was supposed to be, a place that always felt heavy.

Too heavy.

He was drawn closer, closer to the light.

So he stepped forward. Then he took another step after that. Another. Another.

Another.

As he drew nearer, an epiphany finally struck him: it was a door.

Yes, there was no way that he could be mistaken. This, this was a door, a closed door. Beyond it lay something beautiful, something that shined and resonated with a sorrowfully-missed brilliance that he hadn't enjoyed in far too long.

He ran to it.

Sure enough, the dot was the door's peephole; the line, the slight gap between the door and the floor. He stopped before it. He nervously reached out, slowly, with great trepidation. He touched the door, which felt neither smooth nor rough, and it gave no indication out of just what, exactly, it was made out of, if it was made of anything at all.

A silent voice in the back of his mind pulled at him, urged him to turn around, the instinct of paranoia that had preserved him for so long. His head whipped around, but he could still see nothing. The rays of light from the door stretched out into the darkness, eventually fading and disappearing in the vast, black maw that was the dark room.

His panic subsided, and again, the door called to him. No, what was the beyond the door called, the source of the light, the thing that he wanted.

He turned back around, no longer caring for the danger behind his back. There was a powerful, persistent urge that compelled him to see what was on the other side.

He looked through the peephole—

Something cracked into the back of his head, smashing his forehead into the door in front of him, forcing a blinding pain to crush into his skull from both the front and the behind. He gasped and teetered on his feet, too dazed to mount any reasonable defense as something took a fistful of his hair and tore him aback and away, hurling him across the dark room, away from the door and away from the light.

He went slack as he crashed into the ground, rendered completely immobile once more, as Bishop began to laugh.

"Sorry, Wanderer, but you can't go through there." In the dim illumination, the Lone Wanderer was just barely able to perceive the figure of his adversary, a vague shape of a human that he could now see to be shaking its head. "Why, you don't even know what's on the other side. You don't even know what you want.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. You have to figure out what you want before you can get it, after all." The figure turned and approached the door, one hazy limb reaching out and grasping the doorknob. "Now let's see, where you want to go? What do you want?"

He pulled the door open.

The Lone Wanderer saw a younger version of himself, sitting under the Earth's sun, lounging back on a rock. Dogmeat lay at his feet, and he was chatting idly with Fawkes, standing just beside. John and Jane were bickering further away, probably in another one of their ridiculous arguments over nothing.

"Is this what you want?" Bishop asked.

It was.

"Well, you can't have it." He slammed the door shut, and a terrible crack rang, stronger than any thunder the Wanderer had ever heard, as it smashed back into its hinges.

Somehow, the ensuing silence managed to be even more deafening.

After a few cold, lonely minutes, Bishop chuckled. "Heh, but no, that can't be right. That can't be it." His boots clicked against the ground as he strode towards the Wanderer. "That can't be what you want," he said as he dragged the Wanderer up with one hand and hauled him towards the door.

They got to it, and he pried it open once more.

This time, it was different. It was gone. It was all gone. The brilliance was gone. The wonder was gone. The hope was gone. The desire was gone. The light was gone. There was only a terrible, empty blackness, a consuming extension of the dark room.

" _This_ has to be what you want, since it's all you ever give yourself."

Bishop hurled him through the doorway, into the nothingness...

The Wanderer jolted awake. Sweat clung to his skin, and ragged breaths crawled up and down his throat.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

Smell the strawberry... the nice strawberry...

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

He let out a final, shaky breath. Okay. It was okay, just another nightmare. The worst one in a while, though. Still, not as bad as they used to be. God... but still bad.

He glanced at his pip-boy. He'd only managed to get four hours of sleep that night. Better than it had been just a few weeks before, when he was lucky to get that much every other day. This had been the worst night's sleep he'd had in a bit.

Jaune let a smile creep onto his face. Fuck you Bishop, I'm getting better, you fucking sack of shit. You _dead_ sack of shit!

He chuckled to himself and got out from the blankets. It was perhaps good that he woke up so early, anyhow, since he had a few errands to run. He cracked his neck and pulled on his clothes. He went through motions now well-practiced, pulling on his clothes and getting ready for the day. He'd already showered the night before at the Beacon locker room before coming back out to his cave, but he'd be taking another one soon enough. He generally showered at least twice a day. It was a luxury he hadn't been privy too in a long time.

With a yawn he left his cave, stood in its mouth. It was still night. However, the eastern horizon showed a tinge of light grey, the harbinger of the light yet to come. Twilight was setting in, and by the time he got out Vale, he'd be done.

He ran his tongue over his teeth. He'd be fixing that problem. He'd wanted to do it the day before, just after Ruby had told him, but he hadn't managed the time. Well, at least he had it now.

He thought back to his other errand... one that was pretty overdue, to be honest. It had only been prompted the night before, through a scroll conversation between himself and Ruby during the hour leading up to the sleep.

He pulled out his scroll and searched through the text function.

 _R: Yeah, you should come by and play video games. The only other person here who plays is Yang, and I've already been playing with her for my whole life! Maybe you could even play with her, too!_

 _J: Your sister definitely doesn't care for me_

 _R: ?_

 _J: She hardly ever spares a glance for me, Ruby. Never talks to me, either_

 _R: Well yeah, but that's just because she doesn't know you yet_

 _R: Also... you just really didn't have a good introduction_

 _J: Introduction?_

 _R: Back at initiation, when you yelled at her and stuff_

 _J: Oh_

 _R: If you say sorry, I know she'll forgive you. She's a really nice person_

 _J: I don't know... people are never quick to forgive where I come from_

 _R: C'mon, can't you trust me? I know my sister_

 _J: I dunno_

 _R: C'mon, it'd make me really happy if one of my BFF's was friends with Yang, too_

 _J: It would?_

 _R: Yup!_

Jaune shook his head and stashed the scroll away. Saying sorry, huh? That wasn't anything he'd ever been good at. Besides, why would he want to? He was leaving eventually, friends were useless and Yang served no practical purpose. Ruby had already fulfilled his needs, like weapons and training.

He didn't want a new friend.

He certainly didn't want to be friends with someone who always seemed kind and vibrant and up for a challenge or a good time. Not at all. He didn't want to be friends with Ruby's sister, so that then they could maybe do more stuff together in a group or something like that. No, not at all.

Not at all.

* * *

The Lone Wanderer had been, was currently and always would be a suspicious person; paranoia was ingrained into his thought process, his very method of existence. He wasn't quick to trust others, though he was quick to be leery of them.

He squinted and eyed the scrawny student warily as he made his way back onto campus in the morning. The kid he'd seen leave the girls' bathroom, the kid he'd see stare at Pyrrha. Stare at his partner. Stare at his teammate. Stare at a person he was supposed to keep safe.

Pyrrha Nikos. The Wanderer didn't know who she was, not at all. They weren't anywhere close to being friends. Nonetheless, she was a member of his team, no matter how much he detested the fact... had. Had detested the fact. Strangely, he'd become increasingly open to the possibility of having a team at Beacon, to the possibility of not being alone.

His eyes darted away and he surveyed the track filed outside of the Beacon campus, knowing that something would be there. He saw red. He saw Ruby out with her own team, jogging along the track under the morning sun. She was always out running, all the time, running. She was one for cardio, and he'd even gone along with her a couple times. It felt nice to be out. It felt nice to be around people.

He'd never done anything like that with JNPR...

He shook his head. And he wouldn't. He stalked into the school and into the locker rooms, where he took a shower as angrily as one could take it. He slammed the door to the stall shut behind him, just a bit harder than normal. He set down his things on the rack with a little extra force. He even wrenched the lever to start up the water with extra effort, but this only rewarded him with a blast of scalding liquid that elicited a yelp so high-pitched he was glad that no one else was around to hear.

Through it all, he silently grumbled to himself within the confines of his own mind. He grumbled about how he'd be leaving, just after he completed his weapon with Ruby. He'd leave, certainly. He possessed no connection to the people here, or even people in general. He hated people.

But haven't you always gone out of your way to help them?

Shut up.

Didn't you enjoy the time you've spent with Ruby and her team?

Shut up.

Isn't it nice to be around friendly people, no raiders or low-lives who want to take advantage of you?

Shut up.

Don't you wonder about how it might be nice to have a team again?

Shut up.

You're just afraid.

"Shut up!" He punched wall of his shower stall, cracking the tile.

He snarled and got out, quickly drying himself and pulling on his school uniform.

"I'm leaving, and I'm leaving soon," he said to himself. He continued to seethe as he left the stall and got to the sinks.

He rooted through his bag, pulling out some materials he'd bought earlier that morning.

"The stupid people here..."

His hands were slightly shaky as he rooted his bag, since he'd stopped himself from having a cigarette that morning. He pulled out a toothbrush and toothpaste, items he hadn't touched since his time in the vault, and began to furiously scrub out his teeth. The paste was such a powerful flavor of mint that it was actually somewhat painful, though the box had advertised it was perfect for killing a smoker's breath. After that, he pulled out some nicotine gum, also minty to an absurd degree, and stuffed several bars into his mouth.

* * *

 _B: He's there with you guys?_

 _Y: Yup, just playing games_

 _Y: Y'know, I think you guys are overreacting a little bit. I don't think he's too bad, at least not anymore_

How could she not? Yang rested on her bed, texting her partner on her scroll. Her eyes flicked over to look into the center of the room, where Jaune and Ruby were sitting on the floor. They were playing an FPS, " _Grimm Fighter 5: King of the Ursa"._ She and Ruby had beaten it at least three times, first on the intermediate, then on the hard, then on the extreme difficulties. Now, Jaune was playing it on easy, since he'd apparently never played a real video game before, just weird text-adventures.

He was... not very good, but under Ruby's diligent tutelage, he'd started to master the game. Well, he'd at least figured out how to move the camera while also moving the character, which meant he could now survive for more than five minutes.

"Hurry! Use your grenade! No! Not at your feet!" Ruby yelled.

" _Game Over!"_

Yang chuckled as both her sister and her friend groaned in frustration and were forced to start over from the next checkpoint. Nevertheless, they each had a smile on their face. Video games were fun. Video games with friends? Even better.

"Wait here, I'm gonna go get us some more snacks," Ruby said. "But while I'm gone, try to get past the mini-boss, 'kay?"

Jaune nodded, immediately turning all his attention back to the screen.

Ruby flashed out of the room, leaving just Yang and Jaune, alone. She turned back to her texting.

Weiss had left to make a call back to a family friend, one of her butlers, named Klein or something like that. Maybe he was one of her cake butlers? Meanwhile, Blake had left for office hours with professor Peach, having some follow-up questions about her latest psychology seminar. They were chatting now, while she waited.

That left just the sisters and Jaune, though now it had been cut down to just Yang Jaune. Well, Jaune, plus Yang and Blake, still talking.

 _B: What do you think of him?_

 _Y: He's alright_

 _Y: Well, now he is. He's still kinda weird, but at least he's not how he was back at initiation._

Yang glanced out of the corner of her eye, back to Jaune. He was playing the game, though he was idling, didn't seem to be fully invested for whatever reason. It felt a little weird to be talking about someone behind their back when you're right next to them, but Yang had never been one to shy away from gossip. Besides, it wasn't like she was spreading rumors or talking bad.

 _Y: He's a lot better since then. I mean, still pretty antisocial, not the nicest guy, but he's totally different from how he used to be. Sheesh, he was edgelord supreme back then. Really off putting. I hated him_

 _B: But now you think he's okay?_

 _Y: I think Ruby was right. He just needed some time to adjust. Much less of an asshole now_

 _B: Well, do you think that Weiss's concerns have any merit?_

 _B: I think they do_

 _Y: What? That he's a psycho?_

 _B: That he's dangerous, that he's fought people_

 _Y: Well, I think that they're both true, but I don't think that that's bad. I mean, I've fought people before too, and I'm pretty dangerous_

 _B: It's different, though_

 _Y: How?_

There was a long pause as Blake though over her reply

 _B: He's darker_

 _Y: What's that supposed to mean?_

 _B: It means that he's a lot more suspicious than you are. You're a normal person_

 _Y: And he isn't?_

 _B: Not really_

 _Y: Eh, he's just got his own problems. Definitely looks like he's got some personal stuff going on. I'm not gonna judge him for it. I don't think you should, either_

 _B: I'm not judging anyone, just being careful_

 _Y: You really seem pretty on edge about him. You know, there are a lot of reasons that someone could wind up like that, all antisocial, used to fighting others. I think a lot of those reason are more sad than scary_

 _B: I still don't trust him_

 _Y: What's up with you? I can understand why Weiss would latch onto this, but you seem pretty sour about him_

 _B: I just don't trust him_

 _Y: Well, maybe I'm just biased because he's Ruby's friend. I'm just really happy she's finally got people other than those jackasses back Signal_

 _B: What was so wrong with them?_

 _Y: Eh, it's Ruby stuff. I'm gonna respect her privacy and not dish it all out. Besides, she doesn't even know it all herself_

 _Y: I wish she would, though_

 _Y: Even though it'll suck when she does_

 _Y: But yeah, I'm just really happy to see her getting along with people_

 _B: Jaune could still be dangerous_

 _Y: I think you're still overreacting. I mean, he's a lot like you_

This prompted a barrage of replies that Yang wasn't quite ready for, unable to get in a word edgewise.

 _B: What's that supposed to mean!?_

 _B: Yang!?_

 _B: What does that mean_

 _B: What do you mean_

 _B: Are you thinking about something_

 _B: I'm fine_

 _B: There's nothing wrong with me_

 _B: What are you thinking about me_

 _B: What is it_

 _Y: Ummm..._

 _Y: I was just joking around, sheesh. Don't take it too seriously. I mean, you're both quiet and have your own pasts and stuff_

 _B: Peach is ready to see me_

With that, Blake logged off.

Yang frowned. That was... weird. Her partner generally didn't get so worked up. Eh, whatever, maybe just hit a sore spot of some kind. Didn't matter.

She shrugged and started surfing the internet, nonchalantly putting behind her conversation with her partner as she perused for something interesting.

Yang was reading an article on experimental new hair-care techniques, but she stopped scrolling through when she noticed a change in her environment. This was what she'd been trained for, all throughout her life. Notice things. Notice things, then maybe you'll survive. Notice when new noises appear. Notice when ambient noises disappear. Well, ambient noises had disappeared. More specifically, the sound of the video game had faded to nothing.

She turned her head. Jaune had paused the game and turned off the sound, and now he was staring down at the controller in his hands. She saw his red eye, still menacing its own way. The pupil crept over to corner, just far enough to get a quick, furtive glance of her, before snapping back. His trepidation was clear, if a little confusing. Why did it even exist?

He reached into his pocket, then threw something at Yang. Her eyes widened, but she caught it easily enough. It hadn't been an attack, not at all. It'd been a pass, a genial thing meant to transfer an object, a gift.

She looked down.

It was a tube of dark blue nail polish.

"Ruby said you lost some nail polish like that the other day," Jaune said.

He gulped.

"I've never said sorry for how I acted when we first met."

Yang looked down at the nail polish, then back up at him. "So is that what you're doing now?"

"Yeah... sorry," he said, without looking at her.

Huh... for a second, she was confused as to whether or not she should be offended. On the one hand, this could be seen as him trying to bribe her into forgiveness, but she quickly rationalized it to be an olive branch, well-meant. She even remembered something Ruby had told her.

"Yeah, Jaune bought me some ice cream today, and I said he didn't have to, but he was all like, 'no, I have to. You've already given some to me.' And then I told him that that was just a gift, y'know?

"But then he told me a bit about how things work back where he comes from. He lived in a wasteland, where food could be really rare. Some people starved or got sick eating things that weren't healthy enough, just because they were that hungry. Even if things weren't that bad in most places, it was still pretty hard to get by. Everyone lived pretty dirtily and had to ration out what they had, and nobody had it as well as we do here in Beacon, not even the richest. Nothing was nice like it is here.

"So giving out gifts is a pretty big deal in the wasteland, especially when it comes to food or anything expensive. He always likes to give back presents that are about as equal as what he's gotten. Heh, Jaune told me he was always better at putting thought into a gift than trying to say what he meant."

Yang looked down at the nail polish. She recognized the brand instantly, for it was well known. Well known, and pricey.

She looked up at her sister's friend. He was now looking back, staring inquisitively through the corner of his eye, his reddened, garish eye that somehow managed to look a little soft in this context.

She smiled.

Ruby busted back into the room. "Alright, I got our goodies!" She shouted, throwing down a handful of candy and soda she'd gathered from vending machines. She sat down and started rifling through her pile, before finally sparing a glance for the room around her.

She frowned.

"Jaune, why did you pause? I thought I told you to try and beat the mini-boss!"

"I... didn't think I could do it on my own."

Yang looked at him as he lied.

Ruby only pouted, missing it completely. "You'll never get better if you don't try and get past him on your own!"

"He'll never get better if _you_ keep teaching him," Yang said.

Ruby's head swiveled back to face her sister. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that he'll learn better with a better teacher," she answered with a grin, kicking herself off the bed. "You never play these games with any strategy, any finesse. You always left that to me whenever we played co-op."

"Not true!"

"So true. Here, lend me the controller for a second."

Wordlessly, Jaune did.

"You want to combo your slides with your melee attacks when things get close."

"I can do that?"

"Yup, but Ruby never does, because it doesn't do any damage."

"I just want to shoot things!" her sister grumbled.

"You can't shoot if you run out of health!"

Ruby stuck out her tongue.

Yang did the same.

Jaune laughed.

From there on, the two sisters jockeyed Jaune between them, sometimes giving opposite advice to one another. However, he seemed to content to side with Yang, once it turned out that her techniques were indeed superior. It's not like Ruby was bad at games or anything, it was actually the opposite problem. She was too good. Her style of play had been developed over dozens of hours and relied upon skill that Jaune didn't have yet, whereas Yang's reliable strategies could quickly be adopted.

Soon enough, Jaune finally managed to beat the mini-boss. Ruby cheered and the two shared a victorious high-five.

"Hey, aren't you going to give anything to the girl who finally pulled you out of your rut?" Yang raised her hand.

He looked at it. His hand twitched hesitantly.

"Come on, don't leave me hanging."

Quickly, he took a breath, which he held in for a moment before letting it out. Just a second, just a second to cool his nerves. Then his hand shot out, hitting hers with a satisfying smack.

This time, when she flashed him a smile, he returned it in kind.

* * *

There was definitely something off about that guy. The Lone Wanderer decided, after the end of classes that day, that there was definitely something off about that guy. The guy who looked at Pyrrha too much.

How did he know?

Well, he knew because he knew what to look for.

The way the guy carried himself, the way he looked around. His actions were imbued with a sort of guilty furtiveness, even though he was doing nothing suspicious at all. That implied that he _had_ done something worthy of someone's ire, that that something was still waiting in the unknown, ready to be discovered. He feared that discovery, and this fear leaked into his general behaviors.

The Lone Wanderer knew enough people who'd been like that. He only needed to look into a mirror to see one example.

He'd seen a few of his type around Beacon, though never in such attention-grabbing ways as this kid managed it. Some people walked around for a day or two, likely covering over some minor offense that they'd perpetrated. Minor enough, that the discovery was either minor or never occurred at all, letting the incident pass.

The Lone Wanderer saw these people for he watched. He watched, constantly vigilant, constantly waiting for the attack that would never come, from the adversary that was long gone.

Always waiting.

He did not wait idly. He observed and catalogued and remained wary, and he'd become especially suspicious of this one, the scrawny boy who looked at Pyrrha too much. He was always furtive, every day. His glances in her direction were choppy. The way he danced around her in the halls was stilted. His agitation only really appeared when he was around the red-headed champion. The Invincible Girl made him nervous.

So the Lone Wanderer followed him. Why did he do that? Why follow?

Because he's a weird guy, and I want to make sure he doesn't hurt me.

You?

Yeah, me.

You want to make sure that he doesn't hurt you?

Yes.

He's never shown anything against you, though.

Doesn't mean he won't do that eventually.

Doesn't mean he ever will.

All of this is uncertainty, best to be prepared for the worst.

True, true... but are you sure that you're not doing this because you think he might hurt someone else?

There's no one else I would care for.

The Lone Wanderer shook his head, got away from thinking and got to following. After all, there's no better way to combat stalking than with counter-stalking, right? Right?

Right?

Right.

Now, the Lone Wanderer wasn't the sneakiest of sorts. Even with a stealth-boy, he wouldn't call himself a ninja, despite being literally invisible. That in mind, he kept a distance. He stayed far away, almost out of sight, as he trailed the student.

This was another thing that had irked him about the guy. He always peeled away and left into the forest, alone. He knew from personal experience that people going into the Emerald Forest alone (an act prohibited by the Beacon staff) was not done for good reasons, be it for simply getting away to an antisocial hovel because you're cruel to your team, or something more nefarious.

The runt, likely certain that he hadn't been followed, that he was safe amidst the inhospitable terrain, didn't even bother to look over his shoulder as he went. Amateur. He didn't possess a fraction of the paranoia that any wannabe ne'er-do-well, such as the Wanderer, required in order to be successful.

So he followed. He followed him into the forest, careful to keep back. But he was a perceptive person, and he was able to stay shrouded in the foliage while still keeping track of the guy... for a while.

Okay, he might have lost him for, like, ten minutes, at most, but it wasn't too hard to find him all over again. Give him a break, trailing people when you're incompetent about trailing people is hard, alright?

After a half-hour hike, it was finally over. The hunt was over. That little shit's life was over, too.

They came upon a small clearing, and the runt trudged across, to a small structure on the other side, while the Wanderer remained hidden further back in the forest, eyeing the place

The Lone Wanderer hadn't know what he'd find. Perhaps it would be some sort of a base from which the scrawny piece of trash was conducting his villainous machinations. Perhaps there was something grand insidious at play, a great conspiracy. No, nothing so trite. Something real. Something that made him mad.

It was an old tree that rested by the side of a clearing, long dead. The Wanderer could only assume that the spot had been found during initiation, just as he'd found his own cave. It was an excellent little place to hide away, since the trunk was hollowed out by the decomposition inherent with time. It was the size of a little room. A large spit in the side left it wide open. The Wanderer could see what was within.

He caught a glimpse of color. It was orange. Orange, red and flashes of something white. He crept closer, out of the trees.

He saw the kid sit down before what looked like a large poster of Pyrrha Nikos.

Subterfuge was abandoned as he tore out of trees, ripping through branches and crushing foliage as he marched. The kid noticed him quickly enough, and his face instantly twisted into a panic.

"Hey man, I can explain, I swear! This is nothing, it, it..." He rose and spread out his arms to either side of him, trying to block view of the room behind him. "It's nothing!"

"Nothing? Nothing?" The Lone Wanderer craned his neck. Sure enough, there was a picture of Pyrrha there. There was even a box of cereal stamped with her visage, stacks of papers... a scroll that was open to a gallery of images (no points awarded for guessing what they were images of). There was a comb lying on the floor. There were also some clothes. The Lone Wanderer saw a bra, a pair of panties.

Then he saw red.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

Breathe deep. Hold...

Breath deep...

Breathe... deep... deep... just... just breathe... just—

Oh, fuck it!

It happened quickly. He drew Crocea Mors. That scrawny little fuckface drew his weapon. Then the Mysterious Magnum was whipped out and a volley of shots fired. The kid's guard was broken and he was sent off-balance. The Lone Wanderer closed the distance.

Crocea Mors shrieked as he brought it down. The guy had a shortsword that he whipped around feebly, unable to hold back the barrage of crushing, hateful blows that reigned down upon. He was battered about, with a strike to the stomach, then the ribs, then down into his legs and up into his face, throwing him up through the air.

The Wanderer followed up and leaped upon him, pinned him down to the ground. He forced Crocea Mors against his chest, grinding down through his aura, which flickered and flashed, desperately trying to stave off of the innumerable little teeth, screaming and scratching and trying to tear into flesh.

He'd kill him. He'd kill him right here. He'd cut him to pieces and throw out the various little chunks into the wilderness, where the Grimm could tear into it and enjoy a meal. He'd kill him, and then find a stream or a pond or a lake or _something_ and clean off. Then no one would hurt his team.

And if Ruby ever found out, then she'd never, not in a million years, ever forgive him for being the savage that the Lone Wanderer was.

Jaune Arc pulled away.

He panted and snarled down at the kid, who stared up at him with unbridled fear in his eyes.

"Where did you get all that!" He demanded, bringing the tip of Crocea Mors down to rest on the creep's throat.

"I-I-"

"Don't fucking stutter!" He shouted, pressing the glistening teeth of his ripper sword down, close against his trachea. The student's aura weakly flashed to resist, but the brutal barrage had drained him, and his life was totally forfeit. He didn't even have hold of his weapon anymore.

"Where did you get all this shit!?"

"I bought it..."

"You bought underwear and combs and pictures?"

"I bought the poster...the cereal..."

"The rest?"

"I figured out how to break into her lock—"

The student was cut short when the Wanderer kicked him in the jaw, snapping his mouth shut. He bit down on his lip, _hard_. Enough that the creep got a mouth full of blood, even as he Wanderer kicked him again in the side, then stomped down on his groin, a move that pumped all the air and energy out of that little shit's body.

"You're going to leave that poor girl alone," he said. He didn't even spare the groveling creep a glance. Couldn't afford to, lest he hurt him even more. "You're not going to touch her."

His counterpart whimpered on the ground.

The Lone Wanderer shrugged. Message sent. Message received.

He glared back at the bizarre mural the wierdo had constructed. Thankfully, Ruby had actually helped him make a unique new bullet for the Mysterious Magnum. He calmly ejected the spent casings, then reloaded it almost full with normal bullets, leaving only one slot empty.

He placed in the final bullet; it had the symbol of a flame etched into the side.

He cocked the gun and fired in one fluid motion. The dust bullet made the shrine erupt in flame.

* * *

Nora Valkyrie grinned a little bit when she saw that sicko's shrine get lit up.

"Five!" her team-leader shouted.

The creep looked up at him from the ground, and Nora was as confused as he was.

"Four!" he yelled once more, this time cocking his gun and pointing it towards the kid on the ground.

His eyes widened and he held out his hands. "No! Please don't!"

"Three!"

It was right about then that that common sense finally broke through the kid's skull, and he started to scramble to his feet.

"Two!"

He ran into the forest.

"One!"

Five shots rang through the trees, and the kid cried out as a few hit him. Nora saw one smash into his shoulder; another, into the small of his back. He collapsed and fell to the ground, where he writhed and groaned.

She'd seen the way her team leader fought in class. He could have made all those shots, if he'd really wanted... several of them passed by a few feet around him. No, that was a terror strike.

And by the way the creep shook on the ground, it had worked.

She had to duck again as her leader retraced his steps, heading back out from the Emerald Forest the same way he'd came. The same way she'd came, as well.

Who would begrudge her for being a little nosy, when the two people in Beacon she liked the least seemed to be collaborating?

She wasn't stupid. Pyrrha wasn't stupid either, but she was a little naïve, raised in a protected life where the realities of the world didn't reach her. Nora knew otherwise. She'd grown up on the road with Ren, and from a young age, had needed to dodge the advances of the sort of derelict wierdos and creeps that the life of a vagabond would put expose you to.

With Ren's help, she'd managed to navigate a world especially difficult for young women such as herself, and she'd learned the signs. Signs that she'd seen in that kid. She wasn't stupid, not at all. She'd seen the way he looked at Pyrrha... a lot.

He looked at her a lot.

Too much, and with a gaze was that was too lidded to be innocent.

She'd warned her teammate about him, who'd been quick to dismiss him as a fan with a crush, who she'd give a chance, if only he found the courage to ask. He didn't. He did, however, find the courage to steal and sulk and ingratiate himself into her life the only way he knew how. That much was now evident, after seeing that bizarre little shrine.

She'd been wary of him, especially when Pyrrha started to 'lose' some of her more private materials. She'd been even more cautious when some gossip talked about him hanging around the girls' restrooms and locker room. Word was, he'd even gotten a talking-too by Miss Goodwitch. Obviously, that hadn't done much.

Nora had learned all this by being her passive self. Some thought she was crazy and ditsy... which was true, to a degree. That didn't mean she didn't listen or pay attention or remain aware, such that she ingested the rumors and his movements and combined that with her already held knowledge of how some men, the sort lacking in a particular set of moral scruples, behave.

She'd noticed how the guy peeled off into the Emerald forest, as easily as she'd noticed how her own team leader did the same. Oh man, that had set her off. Were the two collaborating? Was he selling out Pyrrha to that creep, providing information for something, or perhaps he was personally a part of this little stalking endeavor?

So when she'd seen the creep leave, and when she'd seen Jaune follow, she followed as well. After all, nothing beats stalking as well as some counter-stalking, right?

She was not, never had been and never would be a stealthy person. She was noisy and boisterous and always preferred to kick down the front door, but this mission had been surprisingly easy, since the Emerald Forest was filled with ambient whispers of nature to cover her footfalls, along with dense foliage to cover over her vibrant orange hair and bubblegum-colored uniform. It also helped that Jaune seemed to be so focused on the guy he was following, on not being noticed by _him_ , that It didn't even occur to him to cover himself from behind, though she wasn't sure he possessed the skills for it.

That was what first tipped her off that Jaune wasn't involved directly. He was actively avoiding the guy's attention, trying not to be noticed. If they were working together, then he wouldn't care about him, only being careful to cover his tracks from behind, which may very well have enabled him to noticed Nora.

But he didn't. Instead, he noticed the creep's den, which she got a good luck of when the two were fighting... well, it wasn't much a fight, so much as a smackdown so brutal that Nora was impressed and delighted, both by the savagery of the fighting itself as well as the fact that it was directed toward that creepo. Though, if it had be her, she might have broken his legs, instead of just leave him to run away like a little girl. No, that wasn't fair. Not fair to little girl, who she happened to have personal experience with, having been one herself and all. They ran away with much more poise than that... well, at least she liked to think that young Nora was cute, in a scrappy sort of way, whenever she was making a bee-line away from a theft.

She'd been tempted to join in on the fight and help him bash the guy apart, but she hadn't. A hesitation had overcome her, for she knew that Jaune didn't know she was here, didn't want her to know. He didn't want her, in general. And she didn't want him... well, she would've liked a team leader, a real one, but not one like _him_.

At least, not him as he was... as she'd known him.

"Leave that poor girl alone!"

That had been his words. His words, to the guy who might hurt Pyrrha. He was protecting Pyrrha... did that mean he cared? Well, in some warped way... it must, right? Why else? Why else would he follow someone else out into the woods and attack them, if not for a strong motivation like worry, like care?

What the heck was up with this guy? A month ago, he'd treated them like trash, but now he was out here championing them?

She looked back out into the field, at his handiwork. The ground was torn up from where his chainsaw had bit into it, and the hollow tree burned, along with all its contents. Alright, now it was pretty cool-looking to burn down the evil villain's lair with just a single shot, then leave, but that was kind of a jerk thing to do. Like, this was how forest fires started! Smoky the Ursa would never forgive him! Besides, she probably could've brought back some of that stuff to Pyr...

Eh, not his fault he got a little zealous. She smiled. Actually, they kinda thought on the same wavelength. She probably would've blown the place up with a good lightning-strike with Magnhild... then they were actually sorta similar, weren't they, when it came to violence?

Her face turned into a frown. She'd learned to love fighting because it's what she'd always had to do. It had been her way of evolving to suite the brutal world of Remnant on the move, the world of bloody evolution. Ren had adapted through going the opposite way, withdrawing from what was around him and keeping his cool.

So, did that mean her earlier theory that he'd been through things similar to herself, was correct?

She bit down on her lip. Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn't. Either which way, that didn't justify his actions... though they might explain them. This was... she honestly didn't know what to feel at this. Though, he'd have to do more than just one act of kindness, if that's what this could be classified as, in order to win them back.

He'd beat someone up for Pyrrha, with motivations yet unknown. Would he be there for them in other situations?

Would he be there for her?

As far as she knew, he'd done nothing for her yet.

She shook her head. She'd just think about it more, later. Later. For now, she was going to head off in the direction of that creep, who's aura had probably recovered enough by now for her to get in a few shots of her own...

* * *

Nora smiled brightly and clapped Pyrrha on the shoulder.

The champion had never played 'Remnant' before, but her strategic mind had quickly become adept at the game.

"You did great!" She praised. "I didn't even let you win this time!"

Pyrrha giggled, before the words sunk in.

"You've let me win before?"

"Just to see that pretty smile!"

Pyrrha started to chuckle again.

Nora smiled even wider. The two of them sat side by side in the library, playing a smaller game of Remnant designed just for two. Ren was off meeting with a teacher for studying, and Jaune was away doing something somewhere, probably with Ruby. What it was about that girl that had managed to rope him in, she had no idea, though she seemed pretty nice.

"Are you alright, Nora?"

Ugh, and there she went. Ever since the day before, ever since she'd witnessed what Jaune had done, for her, for Pyrrha, for the team, she been conflicted. She wasn't the best at remaining reserved, and Ren had noticed instantly, though he'd backed off when she asked him to. He knew when to give her her space, after so long together.

The truth was, she didn't know what to think. She didn't know what to do. It felt almost like she was playing a video game, and now she'd gotten to a point where she could make one of two choices. She could tell Pyrrha about everything that happened, about the stalker and about what Jaune had done. Or, she could keep quiet.

The thing that made this a harder decision than in any video game she'd played, however, was that it was a muddled decision. In an RPG, one of the choices would be bad; the other, good. Maybe there'd be a choice in the middle, too, that was snarky and maybe a little ambiguous. Maybe her character would have enough points in certain stats, like charisma or speech or something, that would give her another option, allowing her to magically solve everything and make everyone happy.

But this wasn't a game. It wasn't clear cut. She didn't have boxes in front of her with clear, formulated lines of dialogue that she could then read off and make everything all right. She didn't know what to do.

So she swallowed it down. She smiled and set up the game with Pyrrha once more.

She said nothing.

* * *

 **Well, this is that. Hope to get back on track with things from here on out, in terms of scheduling. Sadly, I can't exactly make promises anymore, since some other projects have become increasingly important and are taking more time. However, this story will be updated at least somewhat consistently, and it will go through to the end.**

 **Come back next time, when we finally get to forever fall.**


	15. Chapter 15

He stared down at his pip boy. It was cumbersome and practically useless, just a few pounds of obsolete equipment and some traces of radiation. He didn't even use it anymore for the radio. His scroll gave him everything he needed now.

Well, everything except sentimentality. That was something that Remnant could never give him.

He sighed and pulled out his scroll, then switched over to VNN, the Vale News Network, idly browsing article headlines. He huddled up closer to himself on the bench, far away from the rest of the students. They all gathered in a crowd in the courtyard just outside of Beacon, where the school's bullheads would come and pick them up, then transport them to Forever Fall.

They'd been briefed on their mission, though no one knew what Professor Peach would be doing with all that sap. After all, why would the counselor and psychology teacher need anything like that?

Eh, everyone was content to shrug and let Peach do as she pleased.

Word from the upper year students was that this was just a glorified vacation, a chance to let the first-years unwind just a few weeks before finals. The forest was supposed to be beautiful, and the mission was supposed to be a breeze. It was even less densely populated by Grimm than the Emerald Forest was, though they might get a fight with some minor Grimm.

Heh, Yang had complained about that last part, never being a pacifist, but Jaune was happy for the chance to relax. In fact, when the trip was being described to them, he could barely contain his excitement by the end. Ruby had been quick to point out the smile on his face.

It was nature. More than that, it was a particular kind of gorgeous, idiosyncratic nature that had only existed in his wildest dreams back on Earth. He'd definitely be enjoying the view, and he planned one staking out the terrain. He was no stranger to camping in dangerous areas over a long period of time, so he could even spend the few weeks break after finals in the forest, enjoying the scenery, living off the land. It'd be like things back in the wasteland, just infinitely more beautiful and enjoyable.

He smiled again as Lisa Lavender began her daily newscast. Now that was a good thought, wasn't it? The only problem would be that he may be disconnected from the CCT if he strayed out too far. That meant his news would be cut off at times, a favorite past time of his.

This world, still alien to him in so many ways, was utterly fascinating. It was just so... alive. There was so much happening, all the time, things happening. Even if the news was about something bad, it paled in comparison to the sort of things he heard about in the wasteland. It was strangely cathartic to hear what passed for a 'tragedy' over here. Like, the murder of a single family was bad and all, but it wasn't really a tragedy. What had happened to Megaton, now _that_ was a tragedy.

Oh well, everything's relative.

Lavender's broadcast began, and he refocused as things got started. As always, she was no-nonsense and straight to the point. Quality stuff.

"Lisa Lavender reporting. The situation surrounding the escaped Atlesian criminal, Burgundy "the Butcher" Shade is still shrouded in frustration and mystery. For those unaware, Shade is a former Atlas specialist, who was caught directing an extra-governmental military campaign years ago.

"He and personal military confidantes directed strikes against faunus communities, in hopes of quelling white fang violence as well as opposition to new dust mines. However, their methods were extra judicial and brutal to an incredible degree, so much so that their actions were declared genocidal by the Vytal court.

"Shade was given three consecutive life times for his heinous crimes, and Atlesian politics were shaken to the core. A purge of military and political personnel followed, spearheaded by General Ironwood.

"Well, old wounds have been reopened. Shade was being transported across Vale, to a secure holding facility in southern Anima, while his original facility was undergoing construction. A daring attack on the transport saw the guards slaughtered and Shade released.

"Faunus rights activists are quick to blame the act on human supremacist movements, who've long sympathized with Shade and his goals. Shade's actions and comments endeared him to the violent human supremacists, and many are concerned that he will get back to work attacking the faunus and further stoking race tensions.

"Vale security forces are reported to be working with the Atlas special forces to hunt Shade down, but there is, as of yet, no leads. Should anyone see him, immediately call the authorities and do _not_ engage. He is highly skilled and dangerous."

The screen switched over to the image of Burgundy Shade in his military garb. A middle-aged man, with muscles like iron and auburn hair streaked with white from age and stress. He was wry, with two sais, one in either hand. Knowing Remnant, they were probably each mini-missile launchers or something. His eyes seared hatefully, with the passion and fire of seething embers. Jaune had seen those kinds of eyes before, and it made his skin crawl. Those were eyes fueled with hate.

The screen switched back to Lavender, who continued with domestic news.

"A recent speech by Fantoche for the New Dawn found a larger audience than any prior showing." The screen changed from Lavender to a recording of a large auditorium, packed with hundreds of people.

A handsome man who couldn't have been out of his thirties stood at the podium. His skin was a dark olive, with piercing purple eyes and purple hair, along with an outfit of royal purple that was the same shade. Had Jaune been new to Remnant, he may have found the choice of clothing strange or flamboyant, but it was par for the course at this point. Whatever the color, they fit the man well, and he cut an impressive, attractive figure. When he started speaking, his voice was soft and charismatic, perfectly suited to him.

Jaune figured that he looked more like an actor than anything else.

"Whenever we try to speak our mind, we are shouted down," he began. "We are shouted down by those who wish to preserve their own power, to fuel their own corrupt machinations so that they may hoard even greater wealth and influence. We are shouted down by those who wish to take away all that we have worked for. The elites of the council steal from us, steal from you! Meanwhile, the white fang crawl across our fair city, thieving and attacking and working with faunus communities to destroy our very way of life!

"Open your eyes, so that you may see the enemies who are all around! The enemies beyond the city, such as the Atlesian moguls who exploit us with their dust monopoly, the Vacuan gangsters who bring in crime and rowdiness, the Mistral nobility who exploit us for their own finery. The enemies within, the wealthy who work to keep you poor and stupid while colluding with powers all across Remnant to keep all of humanity poor and stupid, as well as the degenerates among the faunus who try to tear everything down from the bottom up. Never trust the faunus that you see, for there is no telling where their allegiances lie. Mostly, they do not lie with the city.

"I say that it is high time we cast this aside. Don't you agree?"

The video ended with the room exploding into loud cheers.

"The New Dawn have managed to fully convert themselves from a small veteran's organization, into a legitimate political party," Lisa Lavender continued. "Polls predict that the New Dawn have passed the required 5% electoral threshold to attain political office. Experts believe that, following the elections next year, we will see Fantoche on Vale's council.

"But beyond that, the New Dawn have finished the formation of the first few paramilitary 'protection squadrons' who they say will provide security for party events, though Fantoche has stated that their role may not end there—"

Jaune turned off his scroll and pulled out his earbuds the moment he felt the wind pick up. He'd heard the bullhead approach through the newscast, but only now that it was close enough for him to feel the effects of its engines, did he make towards it.

"Heya Jaune!" Ruby called.

"Heya Jaune!" Yang mimicked.

He smiled and waved to both of them, but was content to let them branch off with the rest of their team; the four girls quickly feel into their own conversation. He would've liked to join, but only Yang Ruby tolerated him, with Weiss outright hating him.

Blake apparently possessed some sort of animosity for him. Then again, that probably wasn't anything personal on her part, since she'd always given the impression of being innately antisocial. Or... maybe he'd done something to put her off? Maybe her furtive looks _were_ personal?

Nah.

There wasn't any evidence of that, and he was probably just being paranoid. That didn't mean he liked or trusted her, of course, just that he was willing to keep Ruby's teammate off of his list of people to hate and be on guard for. Besides, he actually liked Blake, since she'd never tried to speak to or interact with him in any way. Their mutual exclusion was fulfilling. He didn't hate her.

Speaking of hatred...

His team. The other three members of JNPR. Had they been a functioning lot, then he would've boarded the bullhead alongside them, then they would've descended into friendly chatter, just as RWBY had done, just as every other team around them did.

As it was, he quickly shuffled past them and to the back of the bullhead, earning a glare from Pyrrha, who'd always held the most enmity towards him. He understood that, considering how he was supposed to be her partner, her closest friend. The same for the other two. He was supposed to be someone they looked up to, someone they could trust unconditionally, their leader. He was supposed to be a leader.

He'd been there. He'd done that. He wouldn't do it again.

But don't you want to?

Shut up.

He shook his head and backed himself into the corner of the bullhead, as far away from everyone else as possible. He could hardly stand being around those people, those three who were supposed to be his team. His team.

Wouldn't it be nice to have a new team?

Shut up.

You liked it so much before.

Shut up.

You like being with other people.

Shut up.

He shook his head again; this time, he pressed his knuckles into his temples, as if he could somehow physically drive the thoughts from his brain.

People. He hated people. He didn't want to be around them, since they brought nothing but trouble. He wanted to be on the road, living a life of danger where fraternization was always optional. He wanted to get back to the life of never speaking and never showing his face. He wanted to once again be cut out from the world, to be away.

That's what he wanted.

Well, that's what he told himself that he wanted. That meant it had to be true. It's what he told himself now, and it's what he'd told himself when he started Beacon, and it's what he'd told himself back on earth. He'd been telling it to himself, ever since he'd told it to Lyons, in a moment that seemed to have passed an eternity ago.

 _From now on, you can call me the Lone Wanderer._

The Lone Wanderer scoffed. He didn't want any friends.

Jaune Arc's eyes furtively stole a look back at his team.

The three of them sat together—Nora and Pyrrha chatted idly, while Ren listened contentedly. He'd watched them a bit, and he'd found that this was the usual setup. If he was there then perhaps he'd be giving Ren some male company, or perhaps he'd be contributing to the conversation and add a third voice to whatever Pyrrha and Nora were talking about.

Perhaps.

Maybe.

His life was filled with the words 'perhaps' and 'maybe'.

He let his face fall into his hands as the bullhead shuddered and took off. He focused on the strange rumbling sensation, which was so very much like a vertibird's. Soon enough, however, the vehicle leveled off, and they were gone, with just a hum and a light, ever-present vibration warning him of that the fact that he was suspended in a metal cage high in the sky.

What was the matter with him?

Ever since he'd come to Beacon... things had gotten strange. He'd never felt it before, but he felt it now. He felt it every day at this point, every time he woke up, every time he saw his team, every time he thought about leaving.

He felt a sensation where his heart was supposed to be.

It wasn't an altogether unfamiliar feeling, though it was one that he'd assumed dead. It had appeared following the battle at Adams Air Force Base, when not a minute could pass without the terrible, ugly, heavy _presence_ in his chest making itself uncomfortably known. It had gotten even worse, when he tried to go back to Vault 101, only to make a terrible mess of things.

Then it had faded. He'd left the capital wasteland and made for the Pitt, and while surviving the network of harsh tunnels just to get there, the sensation had died down. It had been snuffed out completely as he fully applied himself to the lonesome toil of working in the Pitt and gathering steel and fight in the hole. His soul had been hardened by the brutality he'd seen there, and it had been solidified when he chose to side with warlord Asher, then depart with the promise of destruction should the slaves not be uplifted in due time. He'd been consumed by the incredible danger and pain of that lifestyle, that lifestyle he continued to live, which continued to distract him.

Then when he'd come back to the wasteland, he was a different person. Given solitude and time, he'd fully retreated within himself. It was in the Pitt, where the Lone Wanderer had been refined into what he was today, where the confused spirit of hatred and shame compacted and transformed. It was there, where he'd found his armor, where he'd decided to hide behind his filtration helmet and gamma shield and never let those of his old life know him anew. He was dead, then reborn.

Thus it was in Beacon, where that all seemed to unravel.

His chest felt heavy, that one spot where his heart was supposed to be once more flared up with dull pain. Sometimes, he felt a pit in his stomach. Sometimes, he felt a knot in his throat. He felt an urge to speak, to fraternize, the likes of which he hadn't felt in months. Or perhaps it was just that he'd done such an excellent job of shunning those natural human impulses, of distracting himself with danger and pain, that he simply hadn't noticed them. Whatever the case, what was it that had revived his dormant desire to socialize?

For a moment, his eyes slipped to Ruby. Just for a moment.

No, the people here were stupid. They were stupid and naïve and he had no place here, nor anywhere. His was the life of the road, the life of the wasteland. He'd long since realized that his place was out amidst the danger of the wild and untamed lands beyond whatever meager excuses for civilization could be found. It was his place out there, so that he could wreak havoc on the world and gain brutal revenge against it all, against the unfair universe that had taken everything from him. He belonged in the savage places, where he could let his own savagery shine as he dispensed cathartic justice and got revenge for the mistakes he could never take back.

Then, one day, he would die. He would collapse in a fight, or succumb to something less immediate, like hunger, thirst, blood-loss or radiation. He would fall and be forgotten, just as everyone is eventually forgotten. He would join the billions of people who'd perished all those centuries ago, claimed by the brutal fire which made the wasteland. The wasteland, a consuming void of evil and death which broke down the human spirit and annihilated a person's soul, should they give themselves to it. He'd long since given himself completely.

But he was not in the wasteland anymore. He did not have to be at war, not if he didn't want to be. But didn't he want to?

He glanced over to his team.

No, he was just projecting. The key word here is 'team'. It's the word that he cared about, the concept. Not the people. He didn't know Pyrrha Nikos or Lie Ren or Nora Valkyrie. He was simply projecting his feelings for his old team onto them. Nothing more.

Nothing more?

Nothing at all.

Aren't you desperate?

Desperate for what?

Haven't you been desperate this whole time?

For what?

For people.

People?

Yeah.

What about them?

Everything.

No, nothing.

Pyrrha and Ren and Nora. They're not your old team, but the thought of getting that kind of companionship again is so intoxicating, isn't it? The thought of regaining what was lost...

Shut up!

Haven't you ever wished that someone wouldn't be intimidated by your façade of the 'Lone Wanderer'? Haven't you ever wished that someone would press in and make friends with you and free you from the prison you cloistered yourself into?

Never!

Well, it's already happened. Maybe you should thank her.

He let his head fall further down, dug his knuckles deeper into his temples. This. This is what had been bothering him. Insidious thoughts that came from places unknown. They were his own thoughts... yet they also were not, in some strange sense. There was no denying, however, that these thoughts were emissaries of a part of himself that he'd thought long dead. These thoughts.

They scared him.

* * *

His foul mood evaporated the moment he saw Forever Fall.

He'd seen the pictures, of course. They'd all done a bit of research in their own time to learn a bit more about the area, but the photos proved diminutive. They were small and pitiful in comparison to what the forest looked like to the naked eye.

A gorgeous scarlet flourished everywhere, a rich and heady color that radiated strength and vitality, just like fresh blood; however, it managed to eschew the darker side of that simile, being nothing short of vibrant and strong and beautiful. Life.

Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, Jaune thanked whatever higher power there was, if there even was one, for taking him from Earth to Remnant. Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, he hoped that this wasn't a dream. He hoped with everything he had that his initial guess at being stuck in a dream really was untrue, that this was real and that he was alive and experiencing it, that he wouldn't have to wake up and return to the squalid existence he'd always been forced to live.

They were off. Miss Goodwitch had given them all their jars for sap, and Jaune wanted to do get about his work as quickly as he could, so that then he would have enough time afterwards to lounge around, relax and enjoy the scenery.

The teams all split off to get to their tasks, while he went on his own. He was keen to keep an eye on others, as always, and he was keen to notice when people were acting suspicious. He noticed team CRDL was unusually subversive in their movements, stiffly and quickly getting away into the forest. He disliked CRDL, reminding him of the many pathetic people who oppressed those weaker than them back in the wasteland, for no reason other than the power they felt. Not only that, but they had a history with Ren, who'd stopped them from bullying Velvet. They openly disliked his teammate, so he disliked them.

Ultimately, he simply shrugged and went on his way. Chances were, they'd do something stupid amongst themselves. He'd realized in his time here that people assigned undue suspicion to things. They were quick to tag all sorts of activities that really weren't that bad with their own mistrust. Like, plenty of people probably thought his sneaking off to buy cigarettes was egregious. The same went to other black-market behavior in Beacon, including smuggling alcohol and recreational drugs.

Anything short of theft, assault or murder didn't much phase the Wanderer.

So he went about his business, quickly tapping into tree after tree and gathering as much of the sap as possible. No Grimm bothered him, though the occasional gunshot and roar announced a few small spats here and there between other students and a monster or two. Nothing major. He simply enjoyed the scenery and set about the simple task assigned. He followed the actions of some of the other students and even drank some of it, quickly finding it to be delightfully sweet.

Oh yeah, he'd definitely be camping out here.

Time passed, he filled his jars and returned them to Miss Goodwitch, who nodded and allowed him to go about his business. He meandered through the trees, thoughts free and head clear as the beautiful imagery laid itself upon him. It was serene and pleasant. This was the sort of moment that made his life worthwhile.

Then he stumbled upon his team, and a frown quickly graced his face, while it was scowls around for them. Wait... for two. Nora looked at him quizzically. It made him uncomfortable, the way she tilted her head and scrutinized him. It put a strange feeling in his stomach, that she appeared not to be angry at him.

He turned away quickly, and the rest of JNPR did the same. He circled around them, but eventually came back, retracing his steps for a reason that he couldn't quite pin down. Well, after a second's thought, he managed to figure it out. He wanted to see them again. Why? Well, he wanted to see them... to see Nora look at him in that way which wasn't hateful, in a way that made the terrible, heavy feeling in his chest recede somewhat, made him feel lighter. Maybe the other two would look at him like that, too. In fact, he remembered Ren giving him that eye a few times, a few weeks ago. It proved that their hatred for him wasn't all-encompassing. Perhaps there was something else... something that afforded opportunity.

Opportunity for what?

Well, nothing, since he'd be doing nothing, since he'd be leaving shortly.

What was wrong with him? These thoughts and feelings about others, about his team, hadn't been there before. But maybe they had. Maybe it was something latent, something that had only recently been reawakened, slowly, over time, until it was now reaching a head. Something that influenced him with Ruby, then Yang, now them.

He scowled and loitered in the trees around them. He leaned back against one of the trees, bristling. He tried refocusing on the environment around him, take in the trees and the air, distract himself from the invading sensations.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

It was in that moment, a meditative and focused state that resulted from all his training with V.A.T.S., that he noticed something. He heard a rustling in the bushes, and his eyes snapped to observe. He saw Carding crouching in the brush. He saw something fly through the air, sparkling in the light as it sailed. Instantly, his heightened senses in that second saw what it was and where it would go, and instantly, he acted.

He caught the jar of sap in his hand, before it could fly further up in its arc and crash back down towards Lie Ren.

His teammate had stepped away from Nora and Pyrrha, such that he was on his own, and there was no other possible target that the jar could've been headed for. He landed back to the ground with a crunch of leaves underfoot, having jumped to snatch it out of the air.

A few heads turned his way, but no one paid any attention to just another student holding a jar of sap. The rest of JNPR turned his way, though Ren was quick to dismiss him. Nora looked out of the corner of her eye, seeming strangely mixed with her emotions, usually so bubbly. Pyrrha kept her attention on him too, but he turned away before he saw her forsake him, as she surely would.

Something boiled up within him. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling. Not at all. It was anger. It was anger and it was hate, the sort of intensity of emotion that instantly inspired a lust for violence, that made his teeth clench and his eyes narrow.

Team.

He'd had a team; he'd failed them.

He had a new team; he'd failed them too.

He'd failed them by turning his back on them, by abandoning them from the start. He was supposed to provide them leadership. He denied them anything other than scorn. He'd been despicable towards them, towards good people, people who should've been in his friends.

But now someone had tried to hurt them? Hurt his team?

Again?

AGAIN!?

His skin crawled. His hands shook. His vision blurred.

He marched into the woods. He tore through bushes and branches with angry abandon, and the jar in his hands cracked and shuddered ominously. He smashed through the forest and came upon an open field.

His initial suspicion had been correct, and anger towards himself flared up. Team CRDL. He should've followed them. He should've caught them in the act and found them and stopped them, before they ever made their move. At least he'd managed to stop them just in time. As it was, they huddled around a box, from which an ominous buzzing emanated.

Cardin looked back at him with a sneer, not a second away from unleashing a furious spout of words, before his eyes opened wide. The box he was holding fractured and exploded as the Wanderer whipped out the magnum and fired without a warning. He wasn't the type to give out warnings.

The wasps flooded out immediately and CRDL shouted and fled in different directions as the harsh insects swarmed them and flew around. They yelped and screamed and waved their arms frantically, but the swarm quickly dispersed into the forest, enjoying the fresh and open air outside of the crates. CRDL's aura flashed like twinkling stars as the wasps tried to sting them all over, but their small stingers weren't enough to pierce through. However, it was enough to make a distraction for the Wanderer to close in.

These bastards were going to drench Ren in sap and sick the wasps on him. That much was obvious. Why not return the favor? He rushed up to Cardin, who was too busy swatting at the few remaining wasps to notice his approach until it was too late. His eyes widened as the Wanderer smashed the jar of sap over his head.

Then he drew Crocea Mors, and things kicked off.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

Cardin stumbled back and collapsed to the floor after a flurry of blows from the screaming ripper. The other three members of CDL recovered from the initial surprise of the wasps, which had now dispersed or flew for Cardin, then drew their weapons.

The Lone Wanderer hadn't been pitted against an entire team before. He'd been set against a pair of partners once in Miss Goodwitch's class, when it became apparent that his skills were more advanced than most, but that was a fight barely won. He'd been left with hardly a sliver left above the red. Now, he was fighting an entire team.

However, there was a big difference between fighting in sparring class and fighting a true battle.

There were no rules here.

He drove Crocea Mors into the ground, where the teeth tore up copious amounts of dirt, which he then wrenched up and out of the ground in an upwards slash that flung all the earth into Dove's face, stalling his advance.

Then he fell upon Russel, driving him back with a few swift slashes that he swung in short arcs. He was driven back, giving the Wanderer much-needed space.

Sky came at him from the side, but he crashed forward into him with his shoulder, sending him off-balance before clashing against his guard. Then he spat in his face, a disgusting and unexpected act that let him shift and raise Sky's guard, enough that he could shove his knee into his groin.

That was how the fight continued: as Cardin fought off the wasps that went after him and his sap, the Wanderer took on his other three teammates, and he did that with all the savagery that the wasteland had ground into him. He spat and clawed and feigned back to shoot from the hip before ducking back in. He tore Crocea Mors through the ground, kicking up showers of dirt to blind his opponents. He was without honor or civility.

It was a brutal, nasty way of fighting, and he got the upper hand, crashing through the three weak fighters with his skilled ferocity. Then Cardin recovered, swatting away the rest of the wasps and roaring before getting back into the fray. His addition made things trickier.

It was a close fight, but one that was steadily, decidedly, turning against him. He thrashed all of them, and drove their auras down with the ferocious teeth of his ripper sword. However, they all got in their own strikes. He'd dodge and evade and swipe back in with quick, dexterous strength, delivering fast and hearty attacks. But they got in their fair of hits too, and he was barely able to keep his head above water and keep from being overwhelmed. He was on an active defense, unable to seize the initiative.

CRDL was average at best in terms of fighting ability, but four versus one was unfair to an extreme degree. He staggered and panted and bore several blows, even getting clipped by a gigantic swing of Cardin's mace, which nearly sent him sprawling and opened him up to a fresh wave of attack by the others.

It was a vicious affair, and he snarled angrily as he fought for supremacy, as he fought on behalf of the teammate he'd failed time and time again. It was with hatred born from shame and regret that he fought, and it empowered every swing.

He would turn things around, for he had to. He was skilled and experienced, more so than any of them. He'd fought countless life and death duels in the wasteland, and this was nothing compared to many of those.

He retreated several steps back, giving him enough distance and enough time to analyze the situation.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

He snarled and launched himself forward. He evaded the first few strikes, then ducked under Cardin's mace sprung up into the air, angling himself towards Russel. With the jump's momentum, he ferociously struck down at the boy's head, sending him careening to the ground.

One down.

The tables had turned once more, as he began to eke out an advantage, adjusting his fighting to compensate for being outnumbered. He found the opportunity to press close against Sky, whereupon he ground Crocea Mors against his skin and tore through his aura, even scratched into the boy's armor, before he screamed and retreated, as was common practice for many who had to face the terrifying, howling ripper sword and all the damage it could cause.

Then Dove thrust in and forced down his guard. Crocea Mors screeched angrily against his weapon, locked into position. He was like that for just a second, but a second was long enough for Cardin to smash his mace straight into his chest.

He flew back through the air and smashed straight into a tree. The bark splintered behind him, and he saw stars from where his head had cracked back into the trunk. He collapsed forward onto the ground, but forced himself to shakily rise up onto his feet. He ignored the burning pain that settled into his sternum and seeped into his entire ribcage. He could hardly breath, and his vision was blurry as he hauled Crocea Mors up in front of him, trying to ready himself against the attack that would inevitably follow.

No such attack came, for another combatant entered the fray.

With a mighty roar, an ursa major smashed through the tree line. The unsubtle beast had thus far been unnoticed, as the boys were too busy fighting amongst themselves. But now it was the center of attention, and it had its target.

It barreled towards Cardin, who was barely able to deflect some of its crushing blows, which would have been hard enough to contend with, had he not been reduced and exhausted from the vicious fight against the Lone Wanderer, who had been as ferocious, as quick, as strong and as cunning as a deathclaw.

Cardin's defense quickly collapsed before the Grimm's unrelenting strength. Two more ursa spilled out of the forest, consuming the attention of the rest of CRDL. More figures roared and rustled far out in the trees, sounding like they were coming this way.

I should leave.

That was the chief thought in his mind. He should leave and escape. CRDL could suffer injury or worse, which would be a fitting fate for them, after trying to attack Ren like that, trying to gain some sort of petty revenge after he humiliated them.

He could leave them behind, and they, with their frantic shouting and thrashing, could garner all the Grimm's attention. Eventually, maybe Miss Goodwitch would come and help them... or maybe a worse fate would be theirs.

He took one step and turned away.

An intrusive thought pierced his skull and stopped him from taking the next step. Ruby would've been horrified if she knew what he was planning. Sure, he detested CRDL, but they weren't deserving of such a brutal fate. Ruby would never forgive him if she knew, and if he ever had to tell her what happened here at the forest, he'd need to lie. He didn't want to lie to Ruby.

Memories attacked him, and he thought back to Maxwell Noble, a boy who had been very similar to Ruby indeed. What would he have done? Well, obviously, he would've turned right back around and struck down the Grimm, tried to save Cardin. He would have tried to save his enemy from death. He would've done the right thing. But Maxwell Noble was dead, wasn't he?

The Lone Wanderer took another step away.

Jaune Arc grit his teeth and turned around.

Gunfire and roars sounded in the forest beside them, denoting the presence of some other students who had intervened on their behalf against the rest of the ursa. That was good, since they'd already have their hands full.

The ursa major was huge. Spikes bristled all over its body, and its hateful eyes burned menacingly. It growled lividly, displaying its soul of pure rage.

Cardin sprawled out on the ground after trying to block a devastating strike by the ursa. He was helpless, and it was at that moment that Jaune intervened. He'd had no time to reload the magnum, so he dashed straight, slicing at the immense beast with all the power he could muster.

He tore open a large gash in its arm. The Grimm roared, but Crocea Mors screeched in defiance. He pulled back and yelled, drawing all of the ursa's attention onto him and him alone, leaving the depleted Cardin safe, for now.

He still needed to beat this thing. This thing, which packed enough muscle and strength to rip a super mutant in half without a problem. Then again, the same could be said for him, now that he had his aura. He matched the beast blow for blow, though it forced him several steps back. It was a savage fight, a fight that was less like a human hunter going after its prey, and more like two predatory animals attacking each other. Every time the ursa snarled and struck, he snarled and struck back with commensurate ferocity. He sneered and snarled and spat out pejoratives at the beast while he kept it at bay. Consumed totally by the fight, they'd each devolved into wild, vicious things.

He was strong enough to block and deflect its blows, while also being fast enough to get around its bulky strikes and cut in. The screaming ripper sprayed black blood all over them as he scored its flesh, but the thick hide and ferocious jaw kept him from getting the opening that he needed to deliver the ending blow. Not only that, but his bout with CRDL had weakened him enough that the ursa actually had a chance at overwhelming him. Fresh and ready, he was certain he could defeat the monster, but now...?

He grit his teeth and stabbed out with Crocea Mors, driving into the ursa's mask and grinding out one of its eyes. It roared in rage and agony. Perhaps he was outmatched, but he wasn't going down without a fight.

He heard something swoosh behind him, then Cardin's mace flew out from over his shoulder and smashed directly into the ursa's face with such incredible force that its head partly caved in, blood and shards of bone splattering everywhere as its mask completely shattered. The beast could hardly even manage a weak, pained roar through its shattered jaws. Its teeth fell broken and splintered to the ground, along with a viscous mixture of saliva and blood. It wobbled on its feet, dazed and confused by the brutal strike, giving chance for Jaune to tear its neck wide open with an upwards slash.

The massive beast collapsed to the ground, dead.

He took an entire minute just to breathe. Things had become eerily quiet. The two smaller ursa had been taken down by the rest of CRDL, who nursed their own wounds to the side. Fighting had died down in the forest, indicating that the other ursa had been killed as well, though those who had fought them weren't showing themselves. He didn't care. He just panted and listened, resting even as he expected another fight.

Another minute passed, then another. Finally, he was satisfied that no more Grimm would be coming. In the clearing, there was only him and CRDL. He saw Cardin, who still stood around where he'd formerly fallen, having shakily gotten to his feet.

Wait, how had he thrown his mace from way over there? He must've moved around, for whatever reason.

Question aside, Jaune stared at him. He stared at the person who'd attacked his teammate, who he'd attacked in turn, whose life he'd saved. He approached him, and Cardin eyed him warily, but stood his ground. He stopped mere feet away from the other student.

If Jaune were a better person, than perhaps this would be the moment where he shook hands with Cardin and the two of them left the past in the past, tacitly agreeing not to bother one another. Perhaps he would simply leave Cardin off with a warning to let his team be.

As it was, Jaune was Jaune, and he punched Cardin in the face.

He punched him in the face, then took the opportunity to kick him in the groin. Cardin whimpered and wilted, falling to his knees, whereupon Jaune rammed his knee into his chin. Cardin snapped back and fell onto the floor. Jaune kicked him in the side, then kicked him again and again. Cardin writhed and grunted, but he was now too weak to fight back, after the beating from Jaune and the ursa. His aura flashed weakly, hardly holding back the blows which were guaranteed to leave him covered in bruises. This was how it was done. This is how the world works.

Might makes right.

Solve your problems with violence.

Pain is the universal language.

He stopped kicking him, only to give him the ability to answer. "You're going to leave my team alone," Jaune said in a low, hateful voice, which he quickly channeled into a shout as anger overcame him. "You hear that!? Do you hear that!? You'll leave my team alone!"

"Y-yes..." Cardin weakly replied.

"When people ask why you're so hurt, you're gonna tell them that it was all because of the ursa, got it?"

Cardin nodded.

"Mess with my team again, and I'll break your fucking legs!"

Jaune gave him a final, sharp kick to ribs, then left. He passed by the rest of CRDL, who cowered before him and shuffled away, only approaching their beaten and beleaguered leader when he was well out of sight.

He made his way back to the bullhead, content to relax in the safety of Miss Goodwitch's gaze and enjoy the view of forever fall. The aforementioned professor arched a single brow when she saw him, battered and covered in some Grimm blood that was still slowly disintegrating. He loved hos convenient that was, not needing to wash his outfit clean of any gore. Although, he had a bit crimson on his coat from when he'd punched Cardin. Humans would always bleed like that.

Miss Goodwitch asked if he was alright, but didn't enquire any further. He took a seat at the base of a nearby tree and sighed. For some reason, he felt... lighter. He felt accomplished, fulfilled. This feeling combined with the beautiful view quickly settled him into a calm.

Other people might still be a little shaken so shortly after that ordeal, a vicious fight with both monsters and humans. The latter was what would stick with many. Such a brutal display against your fellow man could stick around people in the form of regret or guilt. That wasn't the case here. He was far too used to that at this point.

Some things never change.

* * *

Pyrrha Nikos was distracted.

Nora and Ren had each noticed this, and both had commented, but neither had received answers. They chose to respect her wishes for privacy, even though she hadn't explicitly asked for it. She'd told them that nothing was wrong, and they all knew that that was a lie. They'd merely respected the non-direct request and let her be.

As it was, she sat alone in the Beacon armory, polishing her sword. Across the room, sat Jaune and Ruby. She'd be lying if she said that she wasn't envious of the girl. Where Pyrrha had been rebuffed, Ruby had been accepted.

She'd wondered for a while, what was wrong with her. There had to be something wrong with her, something that was immediately perceivable and absolutely awful, something that made him hate her from the start. Only after she'd confided these thoughts to Nora and Ren, had she managed to get over them... sort of.

She still sometimes looked at Ruby and scowled. Was it because she hadn't been nice enough? Not cute enough? Was it just because he liked the color silver more than green when he looked them in the eye?

Whenever she caught herself hating Ruby Rose, she immediately regretted it. The girl was incredibly sweet and kind, from little she'd seen of her. She didn't deserve any of her ire. Pyrrha wasn't a hateful person, but she definitely hated Jaune Arc. She hated him because he hated her, because he didn't care for the team.

Or so she'd thought.

Now she wasn't sure what to think. She'd seen the jar of sap hurtling through the air out of the corner of her eye, and she was on the verge of shouting out a warning to Ren when it had been caught. Caught by the last person she'd expected.

She'd seen him catch it, and she'd seen him boil up into rage immediately after. She'd seen him take off after Cardin, and she'd followed. She saw him attack Cardin right away, and she'd stayed out of the encounter. She'd been tempted. Oh, how she'd been tempted to leap in and fight alongside her partner for what would have been the first time, fight against a bully who'd dared try and hurt one of her best friends. But she'd restrained herself. There was no telling how Jaune would've reacted to her entrance. Not only that, but she had been paralyzed by the fight, the way someone is paralyzed while watching a car crash. A grim fascination overcame her, as she watched him fight with a kind of skilled ferocity that was as startling as it was amazing and terrifying.

When the Grimm came, she'd been taken out of her stupor and got to work. She struck down those that remained in the forest, then she'd seen him save Cardin. She'd watched his fight with the ursa, which again displayed an incredible, scary violence like she'd never known. All her life, all her fights had been civilized and sporty, the exact opposite of what she'd seen from him. His fighting style in sparring class already seemed abrupt and harsh, but this brought it to another level of unmitigated violence. She didn't want to think about how he'd come to develop that kind of fighting.

When it seemed that the ursa major was gaining again him, she used her semblance to smash Cardin's discarded mace into it, affording him the chance to kill it. Then she'd stayed in the woods, amazed and a little afraid and a little disgusted by the brutality with which he dealt with Cardin, though she'd be lying if she said that it didn't feel at least a _little_ good to watch the bully finally get crushed.

And how crushed he'd been. Crushed, and forced to swear off ever acting against her team again.

Jaune had gone out of his way to help Ren, and then he'd gone well beyond that. He'd fought on his behalf. He'd even showed a heroic side of himself that she wasn't aware of, saving Cardin. He'd protected them.

She watched him as he worked with Ruby, bent over some strange-looking technology that seemed like some sort of odd rifle, only half-built. They were both engrossed in the work. At times, one or the other would mention something and they'd converse, but they always kept focused. She'd seen them working in here like this, and she'd seen them have lunch together and laugh together and talk together.

Seeing him with Ruby, she'd long-since dispelled the theory that he was some sort of sociopath. However, she'd long given up on him ever directing any compassion like that towards them. It seemed like she may have to dispel that as well.

She was just... confused. Did he care for them? Obviously, he did, otherwise he wouldn't have taken such actions. She just... she just didn't know what to think. And why? Why would he care for them in the slightest, since he didn't even know, since he'd rebuffed them for so long.

Pyrrha hurriedly packed up her weapons and left the armory behind, pointedly avoiding looking in the direction of her partner and his closest friend. She should tell them, Nora and Ren. But... would they accept it? He'd fought on their behalf, but having not seen an act of kindness with their own eyes, would they even believe he was capable of it? They certainly hadn't seen this side of him, or at least she didn't think they had. She doubted it.

She'd just think it over for now.

* * *

 **I'm gonna clarify that the voice Jaune is always sparring with, the voice that sounds like his own but sorta isn't, isn't someone invading his mind or an alternate personality or whatever, so much as a dramatized representation of his feelings. I think that everyone does stuff like that, just not in neat sentences, which is how I have to format it.**

 **Now I hope this explain more of why Jaune gives a damn for JNPR. It's a mix of both the past and the future. His memories of his old team kick in, such that he projects upon them, especially when thinking in terms of the abstract, like just 'team'. He needs to protects his 'team' and not repeat the mistakes of the past. He's also enticed by the potential for the future that they give him, possibly being able to make him happy again, though he'll never admit that to himself, at least not now. Just like canon, he's protective and loyal to a fault.**

 **Anyhow, next chapter will be slow, probably short, but it's necessary to transition to Blake's disappearance arc, which will begin in chapter 17. Things have taken quite a while to get here, longer than expected, but with the relationships established, I think that we can get moving more with the plot. This was always supposed to be a character and drama driven fic, more than anything, so I've taken the time to flesh out everything in detail.**


	16. Chapter 16

**Alright, time for some more fluff, plot and payoffs long in the making.**

* * *

Jaune stared at the weapon, which was taking shape now that he and Ruby had been working on it for a few weeks. Where once there was only the broken remains of Metal blaster and Enclave's Bane, there was an interesting-looking machine that seemed vaguely like the barrel of a gun. It was a mess of wires and tubes and batteries, arranged around a bare frame. It would still need the casing and the butt added, among other things, but they were only a few weeks away from maybe being able to test it.

And then what?

Jaune sat in the darkness of his cave, with only the dim light from a cheap lamp casting a hazy glow on himself and his equipment. He wouldn't be working under condition like this, but he didn't plan on making any adjustments right now, not without the proper tools and lighting.

Certainly not without Ruby.

They'd been working together on the project for a couple weeks now… it wouldn't be right to exclude her from the process. Maybe it would wind up being his weapon in the end, but she had just as much a hand in its creation as he did. In fact, she'd played an integral role in getting him this far, helping him train and working on his weapons.

She'd gotten him this far… such that he would shortly be able to leave Beacon behind. Leave her behind as well. That had been his plan since coming here, and that remained his plan.

He shifted into a new position on the floor. Then he shifted again. Then again. And again. No matter how much he fidgeted, he couldn't manage to find a spot where he could rest comfortably.

He sat, strangely agitated, and looked back down at the half-built rifle. That's what it would be: a lightning rifle. At least, that's what he and Ruby were aiming for. It'd be like the original Tesla Cannon in that it shot a high-powered, directed beam of electricity, but it'd travel in several arcs, like how Metal Blast shot several lasers. It'd run on electric dust, a much less efficient power source than miniature nuclear reactors, but at least they could be channeled directly into lighting, though it still wouldn't manage to pack the same kind of kick that Enclave's Bane had been able to.

Nevertheless, it'd be a formidable weapon, and he and Ruby could probably have it finished in time for the quarterly break. That was perfect timing, really. He could take it, leave and never come back. School would begin again, but he'd be absent, the first day and the second day and the third day, too. He'd be gone.

No one would ever even know what became of him… if he was even safe…

What would she think of that?

No.

No, it didn't matter what she thought, or what anyone else thought, for that matter. All that mattered, was returning once more to the life that he'd lived so long ago. He was the Lone Wanderer. That was his name. Yes, that was his real name.

Jaune sighed.

Not for the first time, he asked himself what Maxwell Noble would have done. Goodness, now _that_ was a person, wasn't it? He'd been a hero. He'd stood up for people, the weary and the sick and the downtrodden. He looked into the face of evil and overcame his own fear, just to fight back, just to make the world a better place. He'd been revered by other wastelanders for his idiosyncratic kindliness, not to mention his endearing dorkiness and innocent humor. The way he insisted that he definitely did _not_ have a crush on Sarah Lyons, or that he _was_ cool, always got a rise. Appreciated by all, Maxwell Noble had been an excellent person.

What a way to live…

He shook his head. Max was dead, long dead. They'd buried him just outside the Citadel, his casket closed. And the Lone Wanderer hadn't even gone to the funeral, too ashamed to be anywhere near.

That was where honesty and kindness and innocence got you in the wasteland. You died. You died, or you adapted. That's what the Lone Wanderer had been: an adaptation. He was a vicious, mean, monstrous human being, designed to fight back against a vicious, mean, monstrous world.

It was there, which he belonged. He belonged in the wilds, with the thought of death ever-present, with the memories of everything that had happened left far behind him. It was only by living that life, a life of uncertainty and danger and violence, that he was able to feel well. If he ever slowed down, the memories would catch up with him…

Memories…

Actually, now that he thought about it, he wasn't half so bothered by the old memories as he had been when he first arrived at Beacon. He hadn't been able to go through a single night without reliving something, anything, everything. Every day, he'd been accosted by thoughts of the dead and the left behind, but that wasn't the case anymore.

No. No it wasn't.

He scowled. What had happened? He hadn't even noticed… but a sort of peace had descended upon him. Had he honestly not noticed? No… no he hadn't. He'd eased into it naturally… Things were… things were nice now, if that could even be said. He hadn't…

No, true peace of mind was only attainable to him when he was utterly distracted, when he was at war, when he was too concerned with the physical world to ever give the cognitive one a chance to catch up.

What had happened?

As he sat there and contemplated, he turned on the vaporizer, once more dispersing a scent of strawberry through the cave.

He loved that smell.

But what happened? He didn't know… he only knew that it wouldn't last. Of course, this couldn't be stable. This wasn't good, not good at all. This was just a lull. Certainly, no peace could ever last, not for him. Never for him. Eventually, he'd fall once more to the exhaustion and the nightmares.

He shook his head. He'd need to leave. Leave, and never come back.

He eyed the lightning rifle again.

But… if he and Ruby only managed to finish it just a little before he left, then he'd hardly have any time at Beacon to work with it, now would he? On his own, there was no way he'd manage to produce the resources necessary to fix it up or adjust it, should any problems occur. Well then, he'd just have to test it out a bit over the break, then return to Beacon should any problems arise.

And what if there were no problems?

Uhh… he should still come back, just for a tune up.

And after the tune up?

Uhh… he'd probably come up with some ideas to improve it, after time using it in the field and some more testing at Beacon. That would require him to stay longer for the work.

But what if you don't think of anything?

Then maybe Ruby will.

If she doesn't?

Maybe Yang will.

If she doesn't?

I'll ask the teachers for suggestions.

And after all of that?

Jaune sat in his cave, thinking—cold, alone.

Well, after all of that, he'd leave. He'd leave Ruby behind, leave her and her smile. He'd leave Yang behind, who he'd only just gotten to know. He'd leave Blake behind, who's endearing silence and utter lack of attention to him had made him like her quite a bit; maybe, in some other universe, they actually could have had a conversation at some point, but not here. He'd have to leave Weiss behind, along with all the petty arguments the two of them had gotten into, arguments which had steadily become less venomous. He still didn't like Weiss all that much, but true malice had been stripped from their words, if only for the sake of their mutual friends. Perhaps, in some other universe, they could have even wound up reconciling after a while, maybe even become friends who could look back and laugh at their initial antagonism.

Then there was his team. The people he'd never managed to know. The people he'd been protecting… who'd be without him and his assistance after he left. He'd be abandoning them, failing them.

Again.

Jaune snarled. No. None of them mattered to him. They were nothing, they'd never been anything close to something. Not to him. They were tools he'd used to increase his odds of surviving in this world, little more.

Nothing more. Nothing at all.

He stowed away the lightning rifle and turned off his lamp and his vaporizer. It was nearing noon on a Saturday, and it wouldn't do for him to be cooped up in his cave all this time, brooding over all this nothing.

Beside, Ruby had mentioned showing him her comic collection, and he was excited to see it.

Uhh, excited to get it over with.

Yeah. That.

He stretched and popped his knuckles as he armed himself with Crocea Mors and the Mysterious Magnum. He popped some nicotine gum into his mouth, which would hopefully quell some of his jitters. He left the cave, squinting in the sunlight. After a moment spent adjusting his sight, he checked his scroll. Ruby was always awake by ten on weekends, since that's what Weiss had suggested an optimal schedule would be. Knowing her, she undoubtedly hated waking up so early when she didn't have to, but also knowing her, she undoubtedly was willing to do it if it meant helping her team be productive and healthy. She was like that.

He opened his scroll, but found no new messages. Odd. Ruby was always quick to text him about whatever plans they'd made. Odd, but not impossible that she'd lapsed this time. Perhaps she'd just forgotten? She could be a little slow to remember things, if only because she processed life so quickly in her rush to live it.

So he sent her a text of his own. Ruby always had her scroll on her, a habit born of dual necessity, she'd explained: her team could use it to contact her if they ever wanted her for something, and it also held a host of video games she may or maybe not have been just a little bit addicted to. Either which way, she always had her scroll, and she always replied to his texts in less than a minute.

He sent her the following:

 _J: When do you want to meet up?_

He waited idly, staring at the screen in preparation for the reply which would only take another thirty seconds.

He got nothing.

Well, she was probably just in the bathroom or something. He'd trek back to Beacon, which would take almost an hour, and certainly have a reply by then.

* * *

He'd gotten to the school, but he'd gotten no reply.

She must have lost her scroll. That, or something comparably inhibiting.

He went Team RWBY's dorm and knocked, only to be greeted Blake, who immediately opened the door for him before hopping back up onto her bed. Weiss spared a glare and a groan, loathing his existence, but settled for turning over in her bed and pulling out her scroll. Yang sat up in her bed, reading through some magazines. She looked up at him and smiled, even spared a short wave.

This was odd. They were all still in their beds, hardly prepped for the day…

"Where's Ruby?" he asked.

Yang shrugged. "Haven't seen her. She texted us and said we had the day off though, said she'd be up on the roof if anyone needed her." Yang tapped a finger against her chin as she thought. "She probably still up there."

Jaune nodded and said his thanks, then left the room, shut the door and allowed them to enjoy their rest, noticing a curious look from Weiss before departed. That was… not exactly the answer he'd expected. He'd figured he'd find Ruby manically searching her room for her scroll, or going out into Vale to get a new one, or otherwise preoccupied with something that would keep her from answering…

His scroll buzzed.

A smiled split his face as he checked it, only to die a second later. He didn't recognize the number.

He opened the message and read through.

 _W: This is Weiss._

What the…?

 _W: If you're wondering, I got your number because Ruby gave it to me a while ago, though I've never bothered to text until now. That, however, doesn't matter._

 _W: I saw Ruby this morning, though the others didn't. She looked upset, but refused to speak on it. She told me she just wanted to be alone. She's had a few hours to calm down, so you may be able to talk to her now._

 _J: What's wrong?_

 _W: I don't know, idiot. As I said, she refused to speak. My point is: she may tell you._

 _J: Why me?_

 _W: Because you're special to her, fool. If you can't manage it, then I'll talk to the rest of the team and we'll approach her later._

 _J: I'll try_

 _W: Please do._

 _W: If you make headway, I'll address her later, alone. I feel that it's best to keep this as private as possible, unless she wishes to tell the others as well._

 _J: Got it_

Jaune stashed his scroll and picked up the pace.

* * *

It wasn't hard to find her. After all, she still wore that vibrant crimson hood, which made her stand out from everything around her. It suited her perfectly. It took him a little while to find the right place to get up to the roof, but he was hasty in the search. He didn't want to leave her alone for too long, if she wasn't feeling well.

He became certain that something was amiss as he approached her. Ruby was a huntress, with keen, well-trained sense that constantly checked her surroundings. Now, that wasn't to say that she was paranoid, at least not like him, but she should have at least turned her head as his footsteps neared.

Instead, she sat on the ledge, legs dangling over the side of the roof as she stared into the distance. The wind sent her cloak rippling slightly behind her, and it ruffled her short, feathery hair.

She only looked at him when he sat down beside her. Her eyes widened; legitimate shock. Her mouth curled into a small smile, though, which made him feel nice for a second, before he realized that it was a far less vibrant smile than she usually wore.

"Hey Jaune. How'd you find me?"

"I was walking around, then happened to look up," he lied, "figured I'd come say hi." He awkwardly waited for a moment, expecting here to say something, as her chipper personality demanded. She didn't. The pause remained, and he tried his best to break it. "So… hi."

Ruby giggled flatly.

"You didn't text me."

"Oh, sorry, must've forgotten. Why didn't you text me instead?"

"I did."

Ruby's eyes widened in horror and she gasped, an altogether extreme reaction that left Jaune a little confused. She rushed to yank her scroll out of her pocket, then looked at her messages, seeing, plain as day, the ignored text he'd sent her.

"I'm _so_ sorry Jaune!" she said, turning to face him full on. Panic filled her eyes, which were shinier then he'd ever seen them before, shiny from the threat of tears they contained. Her voice even cracked a little. "I'm _so_ sorry!"

"Hey it's okay—"

"No, no it's not!" Ruby said while shaking her head. "Friends should care about other friends, should talk to them and be with t hem..." She shook her head another time, before the energy quickly drained from her. That in of itself was a surprise, considering Ruby was generally boundless when it came to energy. She sighed, a single breath that was hollow and sad. "I'm sorry…"

"Hey, it's not a big deal—"

"It is!"

Welp, there's that energy again.

"It is a big deal…" she let her head fall into her hands, strength streaming out of her demeanor once more. Sheesh, it was like flipping a light switch on and off.

"Well… I forgive you Ruby, it's fine. Got that? It's fine."

She said nothing. She held her face in her hands, obscuring herself completely from his view. After a few seconds, she managed to pull herself up, armed with a weak smile.

"Thanks Jaune…"

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah… I just didn't sleep well."

He wasn't the smartest person, nor the most sociable person, but he wasn't anywhere near inept enough to actually believe that. Still, if she didn't want to talk about it, then maybe pressuring her right off the bat wouldn't be the best thing to do. That's probably what Weiss had tried; she meant well, but sharp and straightforward wasn't always best.

"Yeah, I didn't have the best night of sleep either," he said, going along with the course of conversation that she'd set.

Ruby let out a breath, probably just relieved that he wasn't pushing the issue. Maybe she thought he'd bought? Well, if she thought he'd be leaving it alone, then she was dead wrong.

"Really?" she asked, "I thought you said it's been getting better?"

"Well yeah, it's a lot better, but I'm still working on it."

"Uh-huh."

Silence fell between them, but it wasn't the sort that he was used to. When it came to Ruby, he'd gotten accustomed to that kind of comfortable quiet that falls between people who are close enough, that they hold no need for small-talk or general cordiality. This just felt… tense, awkward, since they both had something to say.

Jaune waited it out. After maybe a minute, he started to idly tune a dial on his pip-boy, which was deactivated, as it had been for a while now. Pip-boy… the useless thing had just been gathering dust on his wrist for a while. Although…

"Here, wanna see something?"

Ruby glance down at the device. "Sure," she said, though it was devoid of her usual enthusiasm.

He pressed a button and booted up the little machine, which whirred and flashed to life. Jaune scrolled through the different screens as Ruby leaned over and watched.

"This is a map of where I come from," he said. It was surely harmless enough to show her the miniaturized version of the D.C. area, since it's not like she'd be combing through Remnant's geographical records to correlate his data. Hopefully, it'd be enough to jumpstart her.

"Wow… is that a ruined city?" He glanced at her, saw a shimmer of curiosity and interest in her eyes. Good.

"Yup. The city of Washington D.C. It used to be pretty big, but the Great War destroyed it, along with everything else around. This is where I grew up, a real wasteland." It was a true enough statement. She'd think he was talking about Remnant's Great War, the one that ended with the Vytal Treaty. He was talking about one that was unimaginably worse, but he didn't think she was ready to learn he was from a different universe.

Ruby was silent as she observed the map. She leaned closer and poked the screen, then furrowed her brow when she realized it wasn't touch based. She started fiddling with the dials on the side, however, and got used to navigating with those. She spent several minutes reviewing the grainy images and reading through all the labels he'd marked down. Some were simply names, others had notes like 'too radioactive' or 'common for bandits'.

"Can you tell me again… what it was like, growing up there."

"Hard," he answered immediately. He sighed and shook his head. "I was lucky enough to grow up in a little town that cut itself off from everything else. We had food and water and stuff, and were pretty safe, but it wasn't a nice place for a bunch of reasons. A couple years ago, I left."

He pointed out the exact area where Valut 101 was on the map.

"This is where I grew up, but I'd end up exploring this entire area over the next year-ish."

"Wow," Ruby said.

"Yeah, I had a lot of time on my hands. It was… tough. I had to fight most days, and there were a lot of days where I wound up sick, starving, thirsty, tired or hurt… or maybe all of those… but that's past me now."

"Yeah, now you're here," she said with a smile.

"Yeah, I'm here," he said with smile.

Ruby stared at the map for a while longer, her eyes idly tracing the blurry lines that denoted all which was left of one of Earth's greatest cities. Ruby's eyes drifted to other parts of the screens, like the tabs at the top. One in particular caught her eye.

"What kind of music do you listen to?" she asked, pointing at a tab simply labeled 'music'.

"I'm not sure you'd like it… I doubt you've ever even heard of any of it before." If she had, then he'd be seriously freaked out, considering it shouldn't exist here.

"Well, I wanna hear it. Play me your favorite song."

He nodded and flipped through his pip-boy, immediately selecting the one song that he loved above all others, for a myriad of reasons. It was beautiful, and it was bitterly ironic, given the circumstances.

" _I don't want to set the world on fire…"_

The pip-boy paled in comparison to the sort of sound quality that scrolls were capable of, but it matched the inferior recording equipment they had back on earth. As such, the song had an almost rustic quality as it emanated from the machine.

" _I just want to start a flame in your heart…"_

The cruel irony of the tune always managed to set a small smile on his lips, but he also just enjoyed the sound of it, soft and pandering. He appreciated the original message, as well. It was a love song, and he'd always had a soft spot for that.

It was a nice song, really, and it was a nicer moment, between the two of them. Something about this… it felt right. This close, he could smell her, too. Strawberry, as always. It was the scent of her shampoo and her soap, as well as the kind of perfume that she liked to put on, though just a little spray, just enough for the smell.

Jaune looked away into the distance, enjoying the view of Beacon and the surrounding forest. He pointedly failed to notice how Ruby turned her head and stared up at him. She stared at the person who was here for her when she needed him, who had helped her so much since they first met, who had so much in common with her, who was so nice to her. A new feeling welled up within her, though it had been growing for a while, and really wasn't too new at all.

Ruby scooted close to him, such that their hips were touching.

" _You see, way down deep inside of me, darling…"_

Ruby leaned her side against his.

" _I have only one desire…"_

Ruby let her head rest on his shoulder.

" _And that one desire is you…"_

The song rounded off and came to an end. For a second… he didn't move. He didn't want to move, for moving would have disturbed the sense of peace that had fallen between the two of them. It was a nice feeling, in that moment. He felt… warm.

Wait, why had she nestled up close to him?

Ruby was probably just a physical sort of person, like him. Yeah. She just liked being close to someone while she was upset, to make her feel better. That was all that this was. Don't misinterpret anything. She'd do the same thing right now with Weiss or Yang or Blake, if they were here instead of you. This meant nothing. This means nothing. You're just here to comfort her… because you need her.

Because I need her to fix up my weapon for me. That. I need her for the time being, before I leave.

So don't do anything…

Just a little closer. He shifted himself so that he was pressed just a bit closer against her. Coincidentally, it also brushed his fingers against hers.

"H-h-haha, a-alright!" Ruby nervously choked out, suddenly scooting away. "I-I think—whoa!"

She'd been so hasty to put distance between the two of them, that she nearly fell off the ledge, tipping forward precariously, dangerously. If it weren't for Jaune grabbing her by the shoulder and wrenching her back, she may have fallen off altogether. Instead, she fell back on the roof, lying there, staring at the sky, staring away from _him_.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Y-yeah."

"Are you sure? Your face is really red."

"Oh, uh, I guess… I guess it's just pretty hot out, haha!"

Ruby hauled herself up from floor and away from the ledge.

Jaune got up and followed. As he stood, he was momentarily startled by how… _light_ … he felt.

It was made him feel… strange, even as it made him feel nice. He didn't like it. Well, he liked it, but he didn't know what it was or what sway it had over him, so he shoved it aside. If anything, it was even a little scary. No, he just shook his head and tried to refocus on the matters at hand.

"So are you really okay?" he asked again.

"Totally, I'm just, uh… I'm afraid heights, like, _really_ afraid, so I just got freaked out there for a sec, yeah."

"But haven't you been up here, on this ledge, for a while?"

"Er, uh, yeah, well…" She shook her head. "Whatever, doesn't matter! Umm… do you wanna hear my song? Yeah, let's listen to my favorite song!"

"Okay…" She was just trying to change the subject, wasn't she? Well, it wouldn't work. He knew exactly what was going on. Exactly. He was a perceptive person, after all. There was no way he was wrong on this.

Whatever had been bothering Ruby before, was still bothering her. Obviously.

What other explanation could there be?

Concern welled up within him, but he suppressed it for the time being, just as he'd suppressed the nonsensical feelings from before. He'd let her go through these movements, if they comforted her. But he'd need to address it soon, rather than later.

"Alright, let me see…" Ruby fiddled with her scroll, hands seeming a bit shakier than they normally were. Nevertheless, she expertly navigated to her favorite song. "It's _Plan G_ , by the Achieve Men." She pressed play, and the song began.

It was… horrible.

That was the only way he could describe it—it sounded like a bunch of boys bereft of any talent had been handed microphones and some conceited lyrics about nondescript girls they thought were cute, then told to sing, and the resultant mediocrity was shoved through a computer, mixed around and thrown out as a random explosion of noises, creating what was the single most offensive piece of 'music' that had ever accosted his ears.

"Pretty good," he said once it ended.

Ruby smiled. "Yeah, they're great, aren't they? Here, let me play their other hit—"

"No! Uh-no, you don't need to do that. Everything's fine, that was good enough."

Ruby tilted her head and gave him a confused look, before shrugging and putting her scroll away. "So watcha wanna do now?" she asked.

Alright, this is it. You've given her enough time already to pull herself together. Time to get to the bottom of things. He steeled himself with a few breaths, readying for whatever might come.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

"We need to talk about something, Ruby."

"Wha-" she choked up and was unable to finish her sentence. She gulped and continued. "What do you mean?"

"I think you know."

"I…I…" her cheeks were darkening into a deeper shade of red. Odd, he wouldn't have really expected that. It seemed like a more animated reaction that she'd previously displayed towards her problems.

"What's wrong, Ruby?"

"Huh?"

"Why did you come up here? You ignored your team, ignored me. I'm not stupid; it was pretty obvious that you were really bummed out when I got here."

"Oh, that!" Ruby perked up for a second, as if she was somehow relieved, but the smile which graced her face proved transitory, as the memory of what had depressed her came back in full force. She wilted. Her posture fell, as did her smile. She looked down at the floor.

The sight of it… the sight of all her incredible vitality suddenly dying…

Jaune was unhappy.

"Come on, what's wrong?" he asked.

Her head hung low, such that he wasn't able to see her face at all. She spoke softly.  
"You made me forget about it…"

"What?"

"Just then… you made me forget about it… you do that, y'know. You make me forget about things… 'cause I'm too busy thinking of you."

"Uhh, what are you talking about?" She really wasn't making any sense to him. What was she even talking about? "Ruby, just tell me what's wrong."

She crossed her arms in front of her, folding them across her chest and holding them close. "My friends…"

"Your team?"

"No… not them. My old friends… the gang back from Signal."

"Yeah, what about them?"

"They're not my friends. They never were."

Jaune furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"I grew up with them… in every grade, all through school. I went and hung out with them, and I played video games with them… they were my best friends. Other than Yang, they were everything to me." Ruby aimlessly kicked the ground. "So I tried to stay in contact with them. I wrote them a letter… because none of them gave me their scroll numbers.

"I… I sent the letter to dad, and he told me he got it, and that he'd given it to them. Then I wrote them a second, and I wrote them a third. My dad told me that he got all of them, and he'd given them all.

"I wondered what was taking them so long… it's been two months at this point, they should've gotten back. Just last night… my dad finally told me… that he'd seen them throw my letters in the trash as soon as they thought he was out of sight."

Jaune didn't know what to say. So he said nothing.

"I'm not stupid… I know what's going on… I think I've known for a while, but I was just lying to myself. Do you ever do that? Do you lie to yourself, Jaune?"

He averted his gaze, not even able to look at her.

"Well, I hardly slept last night, because I spent all that time thinking back. They were never my friends. They'd never reached out to talk to me. They'd never invited me anywhere, or shared anything with me. All those years… nothing. Looking back… it's so obvious now. I'd just tagged along, and they'd just… just… put up with me… but they don't have to anymore." Her shoulders shuddered. "I cared for them all so much… so much… but they couldn't have ever cared less about me…"

Again, Jaune could say only nothing.

"I think some of them only hung out with me for Yang… or maybe they did it because they pitied me, but didn't actually like me…

"I've always talked about games, comics, weapons and being a huntress. It's everything to me… but I guess that they all just liked different things. Looking back on it, I don't think I really had anything in common with any of them. I just… tagged along.

"But they were the only people I knew, so I always just tried to follow them… they were my only friends…"

Ruby brought her hands up to shield her face. The was she shook and the sounds she made could never hide the fact that she'd started crying.

"I try… I really do try, to be good at talking and being social. I'm nice, aren't I? But… there was something wrong with me, that made them not want to be around me… am I not funny enough? Interesting enough? Cool enough? What's wrong with me?

"My best friends… "

She shook her head and turned away from him.

"I'm an idiot."

Jaune snapped.

Ruby squeaked as he grabbed her hood and pulled her back. He wrenched her around and, for just a moment, the girl felt a spark of fear lash through her as he roughly drew her in close. If it was someone else, she may have activated her semblance and gotten away.

But it wasn't someone else. It was Jaune, so she allowed herself to be pulled in.

A moment later, she was constricted in a tight, inescapable hug.

"You're. Not. Stupid," he stated, each syllable carefully crafted with an uncompromising firmness.

"But I —"

"Nope."

"They—"

"Nope."

"I—"

"Nope."

"We—"

"Nope."

After so many nopes, Ruby finally got the message. She was stiff against him, silent. A slight fear trickled through him, fear that perhaps he wasn't doing the right thing. Ruby had always been keen to give hugs, but was that what she wanted right now? He was afraid, that maybe this was the wrong thing. Maybe Ruby didn't want to be touched or hugged or—

She struggled within his grip, and he loosened, giving her that ability to get out.

She took the chance readjust herself and wrap her arms round his waist and pull herself even closer than she'd been before, burying her face into his chest.

He embraced her back, cradling her in his arms and keeping her close. Again, he could smell her strawberry scent. Light and sweet.

A few minutes passed by, not that he much noticed. Time always seemed to pick up the pace whenever he was with Ruby Rose. She shuddered slightly against him, her sobs muffled against his shirt. She clung to him desperately, and he found that he need to prop her up a bit, as her legs didn't seem to possess the strength to keep her standing.

Once more, he didn't know what to say. That wasn't uncommon for him, being unable to conjure up the right words at the right time. So instead, he acted, just as he had here. He acted, by keeping Ruby close, by letting his chin rest on her head as he enveloped her. Physicality, this was his domain. This was how he got things done… whether that mean comfort or cruelty.

Ruby took her time, letting out the final vestiges of her sorrow against his chest. He didn't blame her for being so upset… he could understand what it feels like, to have your closest friends turn on you.

 _Get out of my sight! You monster! I hate you!_

He closed his eyes and sighed, trying desperate to push the despised memory away. He'd… he'd only been trying his best. He'd just done what he thought was right… and Amata would never forgive him for that.

At least here, now, he knew he was doing the right things. Ruby became still against him, the bulk of it having passed. Who knew how much she'd already let out, but she certainly didn't seem to have anything more to spare. She felt weak, brittle in is arms, a sensation that certainly made him uncomfortable. Weak and brittle. That wasn't the Ruby he knew.

"What… what's wrong with me?" she asked.

He looked down. Ruby had shifted her head so that her face was no longer pressed directly him; instead, her face was to the side, such that she was looking out and away from him. Her eyes were red, cheeks wet.

"What's wrong with me… that I never had any friends? Am I not cute enough? Funny? Nice? I don't..."

"Shut up."

"What?"

"Shut it," Jaune repeated, pulling her even tighter against him. "There's nothing wrong with you, Ruby. You're one of the best people I've ever met… and I'm not going to put up with anyone badmouthing you, not for a second. Not even if that person is you." Jaune pushed her back, far enough that he could look directly down, into her eyes.

Those pretty silver eyes, now stained red, criminally pained. He hated, with a great passion, everyone who had played a role in forcing this state upon her.

He looked into her eyes, desperately trying to convey the message he had for her. She was wanted. She was lovely. She was nice and incredible and no one on all of Remnant could ever put her down.

She smiled. It was small and watery, but it was there. It was beautiful.

"There you go," he said, patting her on the shoulder. "You're fantastic Ruby, everyone here knows that. I do, your team does. You don't need any of those idiots back at Signal, you've got Yang, Weiss and Blake."

Ruby's smiled widened. "Yeah I've them... they're the best. I've got you too, right?"

He nodded. "And you've got me."

"Thanks Jaune… those guys… they all abandoned me…" Her smile broke wide, showing teeth and reaching up to her eyes, which sparkled happily, the way they always should. "I know you'll never do that to me."

* * *

Jaune forced a crate down onto its pallet with much more force than was altogether necessary. In fact, no force at all was necessary. He only had to place it, or maybe just drop it. As it was, he thrusted the large container down, forcing it and the entire trolley to rattle ominously.

If any of the dockworkers around him objected to his rough handling, they knew better than to get in his way. They all knew by now that he wasn't a person who liked to spare his attention to anything other than his work, which he did efficiently. He was 'a weirdo from Beeacon' as he'd once overheard. Not like he cared about what other called him.

"Hey Jaune, be more careful, will ya?" his gruff supervisor yelled.

Great, apparently his mood was bleeding into is work, and that was being noticed.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

Alright, that's better…

 _I know you'll never do that to me._

Jaune grit his teeth. Why did she have to say that? He'd… he'd just been trying to do something nice for her, try to cheer her up a bit. She was a nice girl, and she deserved to be happy, so he'd help her along there. But then she just had to go and say _that._

He was going to abandon her. That was the plan. It had been the plan ever since he first got there, and it was the plan that persisted. It was just what he had to do. There was no way around it.

So if it where really that simple, then why had it been bothering him all day? He'd left Ruby with a smile and a goodbye just after she'd said that, then promptly avoided her for the rest of the day, and he'd hardly slept that night, and he'd avoided her all day today, too.

Thankfully, she hadn't tried to contact him.

That normally would have alerted him, but he was happy for it now. Maybe something had happened last night to draw her attention away from him today? If that was the case, then he was a lucky man. He didn't want to see her, for the very act of thinking about her and those words she'd given him…

It made him feel all sorts of awful.

"I'm clocking out!" he said, setting down one last crate. They'd need to have someone with a forklift come by to pick it up later, since he was the only one around strong enough to do it by hand.

"What? Already? Don't you want any extra hours?" his supervisor asked. The man checked his watch, undoubtedly noting how it wasn't even a minute past ten, the end of his shift.

"I would normally, but not tonight," Jaune said, shaking his head. "Not in the mood." Without another word, he left. He strode alongside the edge of the water at the docks, making his way past the machinery and a few other workers, trying to get everything in to place while the facility was up and running, soon to close. The stench of expended dust and saltwater was everywhere, though Jaune had gotten used to it by now.

He skirted by a few crates and entered the main building, pushing through the doors to the open mess area. Some heads turned to look at him, and those that that did, quickly turned away. Everyone knew better than to invite something from him, anything.

The room was nearly empty, just as the rest of the facility was. It was a holiday today, marking the day that the ceasefire began for the Great War, almost a century ago. IN a few months, the Vytal Festival would take place, marking the signing of the treat which ended the war officially.

As it was, only a skeleton crew had arrived today, comprised of people as socially ambiguous as Jaune was. They were just taking care of a special shipment from the SDC. The docks were otherwise barren.

He took a seat at a table nestled into a corner of the room, where he would be most nondescript. The atmosphere was cramped and dark, though the smell of grease permeated the air, a pungent odor that was still preferable to the industrial stink that awaited him outside.

He sat down and let his head fall into his hands.

What the hell was going on with him?

He felt like trash… like there was a fifty-pound weight sitting in his stomach, and he wanted to do nothing more than take a knife and carve it all out, just so he could feel normal again. It… it was a kind of discomfort he hadn't experienced in a while…

His scroll buzzed. He checked it. It was Ruby. For a moment, he considered ignoring the message and leaving her unanswered. He didn't want to hear her voice. A scowl arose on his face, and he remembered why it was, that he hated so much.

She… she made him _feel_ things, things that he didn't really want to feel… so maybe he should just cut her out? No…

I can't do that.

"Yeah?" he asked, bringing the scroll up to his ear.

"I need your help, Jaune!" Ruby's voice was higher-pitched than normal, panicked. Immediately, he sat straight up straight and alerted himself, ready to take in every detail.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"It's Blake! Something happened last night, and we tried looking for her… all day! We looked all day, but we couldn't find her and…" Ruby's trailed off, sounding like she didn't quite know what to say. "I… I just need some help Jaune. Do you think you could come out to Vale with us and look around?"

"Look around?" Jaune shook his head and rose from his seat, ready to bolt out and get to his locker. "Listen Ruby, I want to help, but you need to tell me what's happened."

"Yeah… yeah…" He heard Ruby go quiet on the other end of the scroll. He heard her take several breaths… in a rhythm not entirely dissimilar from the one that V.A.T.S. had taught him.

"Alright," she said after a moment, "Blake and Weiss got in a fight, and then Blake ran away… we're all really worried about her, and I just wanted to see if you'd be willing to come help us? Maybe see if your team wants to help, too?"

"My team won't come, but I will," Jaune made his way towards the door of the mess hall. "Don't worry Ruby, we'll—"

The wall on the other side of the room exploded.

The Lone Wanderer instantly ducked to the floor and reached for his waist, only to snarl when he realized that he'd left his weapons in his work locker. His supervisor had forbidden him from carrying them around, told him that he wouldn't need them. Wouldn't need them!

He took in his surroundings, which was a room thrown into chaos. Blasted brick and cement had been sprayed everywhere, and many of the civilians, all bereft of aura, were left clutching their wounds or covering their ears, damaged from the great roar which his own aura had buffeted and protected his ear drums from.

"Jaune! Jaune! What was that!?" Ruby yelled at him through his scroll, but he wasn't given any chance to reply.

"Alright everyone, put your hands in the air, like you just don't care," Roman Torchwick said as he sauntered in to the room, twirling his cane in a way that would make Chaplin proud. "Though you really should care, since I'm gonna hurt you if you don't."

The most wanted man in Vale. The Wanderer knew all about him from his hours on the news, and he knew about the people he was with, too. On either side of Torchwick, men and women wearing white masks, like that of the Grimm, filed out and into the room, brandishing their weapons and shouting warnings not to resist.

A commotion filtered in from outside, indicating that much the same sort of thing was happening outside, to the rest of the meager crew that had showed up tonight. Tonight, on a holiday, when everyone else around was closed and there would be hardly anyone here to stop an attack…

"Jaune, what's happening?" Ruby asked.

He pressed the 'end call' button and held his hands in the air. He was without his weapons, and he was no Yang. His experience with unarmed fighting was limited to getting enough room to draw his sword or pistol, so he had no option but to let the various White Fang grunts advance. One even pointed his gun at him and ordered him to get to his knees. He complied. Aura was great and all, but he didn't want to get shot down by White Fang and risk a confrontation with Roman Torchwick himself.

The Lone Wandered narrowed his eyes and stared at the attackers. Roman Torchwick and the White Fang? That was a match made in hell, if he'd ever seen one. Well, maybe now he'd be able to swap Torchwick stories with Ruby…

"Roman, the area is secure," said another man. The voice was muffled and inhuman, obviously obstructed by something. It came from outside of the building, thought its owner walked through the hole that Torchwick had made, into the mess hall. He wore a black outfit that covered every inch of his body, which was stocky and well-set. Broad shoulders strained against the tight suit, which looked to be made of kevlar, military-grade material. His face was covered in a black helmet—a gas mask, actually.

The Lone Wanderer hadn't seen one of those since the wasteland.

"Roman, I trust that…"

The figure stopped talking. For a moment, the Wanderer wondered what had caused the silence… before he noticed the man was staring… right at him.

He couldn't make out anything through the black lenses of his gas mask, but those flat, dead eyes stared straight at him, and the Wanderer didn't think he was imagining the intensity being imbued into the glare.

The man reached behind him and pulled his weapon off his back. It was a huge warhammer, though it looked nothing like Nora's Magnhild… actually, the design of it reminded the Wanderer very much of the supersledges that he'd seen back on Earth.

The man started walking towards him, and the Wanderer's nerves growled and seethed, but he forced himself to stay still. The man hefted his supersledge in both hands, and now he could see that his left hand was covered in a gauntlet-esque apparatus… one that reminded him very much of the power fists of Earth.

The man continued to march towards him.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

Marshal your aura, prepare for the worst.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

Don't do anything stupid.

Stay calm. This guy had probably just noticed that he was dangerous-looking. Maybe he sensed his aura, since the Wanderer was able to sense his. He had a strength about him which was unmistakable, a power that reverberated through the air. The same sort of thing emanated from Torchwick, a feeling that he'd gotten used to in his time at beacon.

Undoubtedly, this guy was strong.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

The Wanderer looked down at the floor. Machismo may demand he look up and stare down his opponent, but that may just provoke an attack. After all, he still didn't know if-

The man lashed out with his left fist. The piston set on it clacked and shot out, driving even greater force behind the punch, which landed on his temple.

The world darkened for a moment, but the Wanderer quickly adopted the strike's momentum and rolled out of the way, thanking the strong aura he'd fortified. He propped himself up into a crouch.

Just in time to catch the end of the man's hammer with his forehead.

He was sent cartwheeling up into the air, before ingloriously collapsing onto a table, sending food and drinks flying. The civilians shouted in surprise, but the White Fang around them were quick to suppress any unwanted movements.

Great, he'd been caught out by a strong opponent in a bad position, where they had all the advantages. The Wanderer hauled himself up and tried to get away from his foe, who was advancing slowly towards him.

Something cracked against the back of his head, sending him forward, an opportunity taken by the man with the gas mask, who rushed in and drove his power fist into his gut. He was double over from the strike, which had stolen all his breath. The man with the gas mask pushed him back, where he was against struck in the back, driven to his knees.

"Sheesh Art, if you're going to start knocking people around like they're hacky sacks, at least warn me first," Torchwick said from behind. The Lone Wanderer couldn't see him, but he could hear the snobby criminal behind him. Undoubtedly, the overly-suave prick was twirling his cane and chomping on cigar.

Idiot… you let you one of them get behind you.

The Wanderer gulped and shakily pushed himself up to his knees. He was outclassed here, completely. Two enemies, either of whom could probably match him in strength, now had him right where they wanted him. He looked up at the man in the gas mask, just in time to see him raise his hammer high above his head. He could only watch as it hurtled back down.

Everything became dark.

* * *

 **Oh boy, Jaune once more finds himself in a situation where he ruthlessly gets his ass kicked, which hasn't happened for a bit.**

 **Well, I'm happy to finally set off some of the things that I've been building up for a while. Like, having Jaune get a job at the docks wasn't _just_ a throwaway to explain his income. For the sake of an interesting fic, I've slapped him smack in the middle of Blake's disappearance arc, which he normally isn't involved with. This is an overhaul fic, so I'll be jamming him in about as much stuff as I can, since he's the primary protagonist and all.**

 **Also, we see the truth behind Ruby and her 'friends' from Signal, a problem that Yang has been alluding to as far back as chapter 5. In canon, we see Ruby writing to them in the beginning of the show, never to mention them again. We know that Ruby isn't the best at socializing, so I just decided to dramatize the situation. If I hadn't… well, we wouldn't have gotten that nice scene between those two, now would we?**

 **Fun fact, them sharing their favorite songs was always supposed to be fluffy, but it turned out much more intimate than I originally thought it would. That's the cool thing about writing: no matter your plans, things will still surprise you from time to time.**

 **You know, I went back and reread the parts of chapter 5 where Jaune first meets Ruby and his subsequent thoughts about her. Compare that to this… man, night and day. He's certainly come far from then, when all the PM's and reviews were people rooting for Bishop to beat him up more, lol.**


	17. Chapter 17

**Hey, had to reupload this because I accidentally submitted the rough draft first, not the final version. Sorry for any confusion.**

 **Also, after rewatching some of the show, I realized that I got the timing wrong. Apparently, Blake left on a friday, not a saturday like I had it here. Oh well. I know that such a small detail like that doesn't matter, but the little things always bug me -_-**

 **Anyway, let's see what fresh trouble Jaune has fallen into this time.**

* * *

Team JNPR—subtract their leader—sat in their room. They lounged on their beds, Ren reading a book while Nora and Pyrrha each browsed over sets of notes. A fourth bed lay beside, unkempt and coated in dust.

"Hey Pyr, what part of the brain controls seeing? Is it the 'ock' one?" Nora asked.

"The occipital lobe, yes," Pyrrha replied.

"Is that for Peach's psychology lectures?" Ren asked.

"Yup!"

"It is."

"I'll be taking that next quarter; how do you like it?"

"Peach is pretty cool," Nora said, smiling wide. "She wants us to have fun and do stuff and stuff, so we play games, like 'pin the tail on the brain' and 'spot that mental illness' and things. She's nice!"

"And the material is interesting," Pyrrha said, "And she's definitely passionate about her work. It shines through. Though she's not exactly what I expected..."

Ren nodded. "Yes, I heard that she's a little strange—"

Loud knocking at the door sounded into/ their room, ending the conversation.

Pyrrha got up, strolled over and opened it a crack. Her eyes that widened as the door was shoved open and she was accosted by Ruby Rose. The girl practically pounced upon her and grabbed her by the lapel of her uniform. The champion would've quickly and easily thrown her off in fear of an attack, had it not been for panicked look in Ruby's innocent eyes.

"Jaune's in trouble!" Ruby shouted.

"Wha-?"

"I called him and then there was an explosion or something and he just hung up! I don't know what to do! I dunno!"

"Calm down, calm down," Weiss said as she stepped in and pried Ruby off the champion. "You're not making any sense like that, just calm down for a moment. Breathe. Do that silly breathing thing Jaune taught you."

Ruby nodded and shakily started to take gulps of air.

Pyrrha turned behind her and looked back at both Ren and Nora, who'd both risen from their beds and approached, wondering just what was going on.

"Friend Ruby has lost two of her friends," said a ginger girl that Pyrrha failed to recognize.

"Jaune and Blake are both missing," Yang said, trying to finally interject some clarity into the situation. "We were wondering if you had any idea where to find Jaune and if you wanted to help us."

"Yeah!" Ruby said, after finally managing to get some hold of herself. "You're his team, so you must know more about what's going on with him, right?"

Pyrrha scowled.

"You know more than we ever could," she said, promptly slamming the door shut.

Pyrrha turned around and left the door behind her, crossing her arms with a huff. Jaune… that bastard!

Although… her scowl softened and she glanced at Ren. That was only a few days ago, when he'd intervened for them at Forever Fall. He'd done something for their team… he'd done quite a bit, actually. He cared for them… he'd practically said so himself.

Shouldn't she care in return?

More banging on their door.

"Please!" Ruby shouted. "I think he's in trouble!"

Pyrrha bit down on her cheek. Ren and Nora. They hated him. She knew that. They hated him, and they certainly wouldn't want to spare a single second of their time helping him. But she had to go against that. She had to convince them. If he'd been there for them, then they'd have to be there for him. And if they didn't want to help? Then she'd just have to do it alone. She'd repay the favor, and maybe get some answers out of him, put the whole situation to rest.

Pyrrha opened her mouth.

Nora beat her to it.

"Guys…"

Pyrrha looked to her teammate, who seemed more distraught than she'd ever seen her before. Nora nervously clutched her hands together and shifted her weight from foot to foot, anxiety making it impossible to stay still.

"If he's in trouble… I think we should really go and find him… he… I think there's a lot more here than you know."

"What do you mean?" Ren and Pyrrha asked at once.

"He… I never told you, because it confused me and I didn't know how to say it, but he looked out for Pyrrha a while back, with that creep I was telling you about."

"The same…" Pyrrha whispered.

Nora and Ren each spared her a quizzical look. She had to explain.

"The same for me," Pyrrha said. "Just now, at Forever Fall, he fought off CRDL when they were trying to fight Ren—neither of you noticed, but I did." Pyrrha shook her head. "I could hardly believe it… and I've been thinking it over in my head ever since. I was going to tell you soon but… I didn't even know… I've just been watching him and trying to think it over… since I know you hate him so much, I didn't want to risk anything… but he's been looking out for us." Pyrrha leaned back behind and rested her back against the door. "He said he was protecting his team... I heard him…"

"Then he's a man of his word," Ren said. "I overheard him say some things a while ago… I didn't understand them then; I didn't believe him, or I just _didn't want_ to believe him." Ren closed his eyes, thinking. "But if he's been looking over us this whole time…?

"Well, then I still don't understand it…"

"We don't have to!" Nora shouted.

She charged for the door, but Pyrrha had already opened it and rushed through.

* * *

"…yes, yes, I'm absolutely certain it's him," said the man in the gas mask.

"Excellent," said a voice on the other end of his scroll. "Fortune serves us well. Keep him safe and unharmed for now. My mission is almost complete; once I return, bring him to me. Justice will finally prevail."

"It will be done, Leader."

With that, the call ended.

"Not gonna lie, he doesn't really look like much," Torchwick said.

He stood beside the man in the gas mask, and each of them were standing in the middle of an empty warehouse. Well, previously empty. Now, they had all the workers bound and gagged, lined up against the wall, aside from one in particular. The blonde boy that Art had smacked around, tied up and bound to a chair, still unconscious.

"He's capable of terrible things," Art replied.

Roman shrugged. "If you say so. We'll bundle him along with the rest of the dust, then your 'Leader' can have his fun with him."

"There will be no 'fun'. Only justice."

"Right, whatever, we just need to—"

A door to the room creaked open, and one of the white fang 'soldiers' that he'd been ordering around peered into the room. "Hey Torchwick," he said, "which ones are the SDC crates, again?"

Roman brought one hand up and pinched the bridge of his nose, then he sighed and shook his head. "They're the ones that say 'SDC' on them in big letters."

"Well, we can't find them."

"For the love of—fine, just go back out and I'll be there in a moment."

The grunt nodded and left, and Torchwick could only grumble.

"Stupid animals, can't do anything right…"

"Filthy, disgusting creatures," Art said, spitting out the words with such malice that Torchwick could _feel_ the unseen sneer on his face. "It's demeaning, that we have to work with them."

Roman waved a hand. "Yeah well, they're good for hauling stuff around; at least the animals have some muscle."

"Awful abominations of nature. Their elimination will make the world a better place."

Roman was silent. He looked at Art from the corner of his eye, before clearing his throat to dispel the awkward quiet.

"Yeaaaahhhh… right, I'm gonna go now," he said, moving out of the warehouse. "Though I think you ought to come with, if only to shout at those braindead grunts and keep better watch over them."

Art nodded. "Let's get this done."

* * *

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet," Bishop said. He brought one finger to his chin and tapped it, thinking; likely, he was just feigning thought, dragging out the silence and sadistically enjoying the way that the Lone Wanderer burned.

He burned. He seethed. His nerves were on fire and every thought going through his head demanded that he take some sort of action, demanded that he fight, demanded that he _do_ something.

As it was, he could do nothing. He was trapped, motionless, speechless, within the dark room.

"Goodness, it's really been a convoluted mess that you've gone through, when it comes to names. Lone Wanderer… Jaune…" Bishop smiled. "I wonder, don't you ever wish sometimes, that people would call you Max? Maxwell Noble… now _that_ had been a person, right? A hero. He'd been better than you. You… who killed him."

No!

"Yes!" Bishop said, laughing. "Yes, yes it's true. _You_ did it, and you did everything else as well. All of it… it's all _your_ fault. Max's casket lies six feet under, because of _you._ " Bishop approached and rested his hand against the Wanderer's chest. Immediately, a sick feeling amassed in the spot where his heart was supposed to be. It was a heavy, unnatural feeling, a foreign _presence_.

"And now here you are… about to ruin it all again. Or, you were. Who knows what these people have planned for you?" Bishop shook his head as he pressed his palm harder against the Wanderer's chest, and in the spot where is heart was supposed to be, he felt a scorching. "But you and I… we haven't talked for a little while, haven't we?

"I was beginning to miss you, to think that you didn't want to see me," Bishop said, chuckling lightly. "But I'm back again… back to shove all your mistakes and all the truth and all the feelings that you want to avoid, right back into your face."

Bishop leaned forward, so close that the Wanderer felt his cold breath against his face.

"I am everything to you. I'm everything you hate… everything you fear… and I love that, I really do. I love being your nightmare." Bishop hummed, thinking again, or maybe just dragging out the moment, delighting in the Wanderer's discomfort. "Max never would have abandoned them, you know? Never would have left Ruby behind, never would have treated his team like that. But you're no Max, are you? You can never be… though you've been thinking back to him a lot recently, haven't you? Thinking back to the times when he was alive, and you had your team, your knighthood, your badge, your purpose."

Bishop shook his head.

"But… you're _you_ , and you're nothing."

* * *

Blake Belladonna brought a finger to her lips, motioning for Sun to be quiet.

She could just barely spot figures scurrying around the docks, along with some bullheads that were coming in to land. Odd, wasn't it, that bullheads would come in the middle of the night, on a holiday, to land in a place they had no business being?

This was it. It had to be.

"Come on," she whispered. She waved her hand and Sun nodded, following her. They needed to get closer. As it was, she'd been perched on top of a roof not too far away from the district, but she needed a good view.

She needed to _know_. If only to prove the Schnee bitch wrong…

She shook her head. She'd never quite trusted Weiss—how could she? A Schnee, the greatest enemy of the White Fang. And although she'd left the organization, some residual distaste for the SDC was prominent. Weiss had… not been as bad as she'd thought she would be, at least not after she managed to overcome her despicable snobiness in the first few weeks.

But she… she was just being plain racist!

And it couldn't be true, that the White Fang had fallen so far as to commit acts of dishonorable burglary against random stores, not even targeting the SDC or Atlas specifically. It was impossible, that they'd ever assort with someone like Torchwick. It couldn't be.

She didn't want it to be. If it was… then her entire life, all the years she'd contributed to the cause… would all be a waste, a terrible waste that had only ended in petty thievery and an abandonment of the ideals they'd once cherished.

And if it were true?

Well… then she'd have to give Weiss and apology…

She narrowed her eyes and picked up her pace, with Sun doing the same, thank goodness. She wouldn't be slowing down, not for anyone.

"Hey Blake, slow down," Sun said.

She growled and turned on the spot. "What is it?" she asked.

Whereas she'd been running with some abandon, Sun had been looking through the windows and alleys that they passed by, not quite as consumed in the chase as Blake was. They'd been running along the roof of a warehouse, just beside the docks now. She was just about to drop down and get a better view of what was going on, but now Sun was pointing down through a window set into the roof.

"Look, prisoners!"

Blake scowled and rushed up to the window, looking into the warehouse below. Sure enough, someone was bound and gagged on a chair, set in the middle of the room, along with a crowd of others tired up and sitting against the wall beside him.

There were two guards… both clad in White Fang uniforms.

Blake wasn't sure how to feel. "We've stumbled right into the middle of an operation, and they've got hostages."

"We need to get them out of here," Sun said.

"Definitely, before we try to go any further."

"Shouldn't we call the police?"

"And risk a bloodbath? Listen Sun, I think I may still be able to defuse this."

Blake took of her bow, revealing her cat ears, which twitched in the cold night air. She unhitched the window and jumped down.

* * *

"Do you remember what they used to say about you?" Bishop asked.

"They used to praise you, used to tell you that you were a good kid. They even scrounged together what little they had to give you gifts."

Bishop shook his head.

"Those times are long gone, though. Aren't they?"

They are.

"I bet you wish you could go back to them."

I do.

"It's all gone… and the way you're headed, this will all be gone, too." Bishop snapped his fingers.

A vague apparition appeared, a short, hazy, red figure that was barely discernible as human. Hardly audible giggles emanated from the form, then quivered delightedly in the air. It danced around happily, in fluid motion.

He snapped his fingers again. The apparition dissolved, and Jaune felt colder, missing a warmth he hadn't even noticed was there.

"You're running away from it, fool. You're afraid and pathetic and you're running away, just like you always do. Ran and ran and ran, all the way to another universe, and then you kept running." Bishop poked him in the chest, causing the terrible feeling to burn once more, tense and painful, right where his heart was supposed to be.

"And then here you are, passed out, attacked out of the blue. Who knows what'll happen to you?" Bishop snapped his fingers, and forms of Torchwick and Art appeared from the darkness, hovering just on the edge of visibility.

"And as for your strength. Well, this is one situation you won't be able to fight your way out of.

"You try and perceive the world around you as best as you can… but this doesn't look right, not right at all.

"Better endure. Keep it up, you're almost there, wherever 'there' may be… probably nowhere.

"You never were the most charismatic person, where you? If you were… maybe things would be different. Sarah. Amata. Your Team. Your dad. All left. Blech. If my kid looked like that, I'd abandon it too.

"What intelligence you have, winding up here at Beacon, getting wrapped up in the stuff you've been avoiding ever since Adams Air Force Base. Tsk. Tsk. Walked right into another trap. Exactly how stupid are you?

"You've got to be agile, got to keep on the right track with the right people. Isn't it funny how everyone you get close to ends up leaving?

"But that's just your luck, isn't it? Dead mother, life in a post-nuclear wasteland and not a friend in it. Yeah, you aren't exactly blessed."

Bishop cruel smile widened, and opened his mouth as if he were about to say something more, but in a flash, the dark room receded. The Lone Wanderer opened his eyes.

"Jaune, are you alright? What are you even doing here?"

"Huh… wha…?"

Blake scowled, decided it was best to give him a moment to collect himself and drew Gambol Shroud. She carefully sliced through the rope that bound him.

The Lone Wanderer blinked groggily, trying his best to push through the haze that permeated his mind. He'd been hit… _hard_. Like, really hard. That guy had packed a punch, and so had Torchwick. Once his hands were free, he brought them up to massages his temples and forehead.

Breathe deep. Hold Release.

"Jaune, what happened here?"

Jaune blinked blearily, and the first thing to notice was something he had never quite expected… though in hindsight, it should have been obvious.

"Holy shit… you have cat ears…"

Blake sighed, exasperated. "Yes, I do."

He had a brilliant idea.

Blake smacked his hands away. "No, you can't touch them!"

His hopes died.

"Listen Jaune, this is serious. I need you to answer my question. Now, what happened here?"

This time, he was actually able to pick up her words through the receding disorientation. "I… I work here." He scowled as a fresh wave of pain pulsed in his skull, then died down after just a few seconds. "Yeah… I work here, and I was about to leave, then the wall just exploded, and Torchwick and the White Fang burst in… along with some other asshole."

"Wait… Torchwick _and_ the White Fang? They were working side by side?"

He nodded.

"Are you sure?"

"They looked just like the pictures in the news." Jaune shook his head, then winced when he found that the movements hurt his still-addled mind. "Yeah I'm sure it was them."

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

He finally felt right enough in the head to look around at his surroundings. Some other faunus with blonde hair and a tail was attending to the other prisoners. Two bodies lay on the floor, both of them, White Fang. Though by the way their chests were rising and falling, neither were dead.

Dead…

Fighting…

"I need to get my weapons," the Lone Wanderer said. "They're in my locker here, I'll pick them up quick."

"Wait, they're not in your rocket-locker back at Beacon?"

"I don't trust those stupid things, want to have them close by." The Wanderer looked over at the prisoners, right at his supervisor. "Though _someone_ forbade me from keeping them on me while working…"

The supervisor cringed and looked away.

"Alright, listen, we need to get these people out of here, then go in and stop whatever operation the White Fang are up to, and make sure they really are working with Torchwick," Blake said.

"Didn't I already tell you they are?"

"I need to see it for myself."

"Sheesh, fine…" the Lone Wanderer, and Jaune sighed as he remembered, through the fog that was fast dissipating, the moments before the attack… the words, as well. "Wait a minute, Ruby said something about you, are you alright?"

"What, what did Ruby say?"

"She said you were in trouble or something, asked me for help finding you."

Blake scowled. "I'm fine… or at least, I will be, once we get to the bottom of this."

"Well, we need to call the cops and get these people safe," Jaune said, pointing at the assembled prisoners. "Once the cops get here, we can get the hell out of here."

"No way. Like I said, I need to see this for myself. Besides, getting the police involved now will guarantee violence. They never get anything right."

Now it was Jaune's turn to scowl. "Listen Blake, I've always liked you—"

"We've literally _never_ talked before now."

"Exactly! We've never bugged each other, and I love you for that, I really do. But Ruby cares about you, and she asked me for help, so by god, I'm gonna give it." Jaune put his hands on his hips and squared his shoulders, leaving no uncertainty as to his conviction. "Where you go, I go. I'm keeping an eye on you."

Blake's scowl deepened. "What, like a baby-sitter?"

"Yup. We need to get back to Beacon—"

"I'll go there after I get to the bottom of what's going on here," Blake interrupted. "I swear it, I'll go back and talk to them. I… I just can't do that right now."

She averted her eyes, and for a moment, Jaune recognized her behavior as being not altogether dissimilar from his own. They always had been comparable. Quiet, brooding, dark and somewhat mysterious in their own ways. He hadn't been lying when he'd said he'd always felt at least some small spark of affinity for her.

"Hey buddy, I've been trying to convince her to do the same thing all day, but she won't budge," the other faunus said with a shrug of his shoulders.

"And who the hell are you?" Jaune asked.

"Name's Sun," he said with a cocky smirk, "Sun Wukong."

"Is that supposed to mean something? I didn't ask for your name, I asked for who you are."

Sun's smirk turned brittle.

"He's a friend," Blake said, "He's helping me with this."

"Yup!" Sun said cheerily.

Jaune sighed. "Fine," he said, "we look around for a bit, then we pull back. Call in the authorities, call in the rest of your team." Jaune looked to the side, at the now freed group of hostages who were nervously huddled together. "Sun, cover these people and get them out of here." He turned and addressed the group more broadly. "Once you all escape, call the police, tell them what's happening." He glanced at Blake, saw she was about to protest and decided to cut her off, "We'll need the police to get involved, alright? We'll go in and scope things out, stop them ourselves if we can, tie them down til the cops come. We'll keep hold of the situation ourselves, no matter what." He shook his head. "I want to take head of things as much as you do, but there are some tough guys out there, and we'll _need_ the backup in case things go wrong."

Blake didn't look too happy, but after a few tense moment, she didn't argue.

Jaune turned back to the hostages. "Stay outside, or run away. But make sure that one of you calls this in."

There were several nods, and Jaune addressed Blake again.

"I need to get my weapons, and Sun needs to get these people out of here. If you can wait, then the rest of us can meet back here in, like, ten minutes. From there, we'll look into what's going on."

Blake nodded. "Sounds good, but hurry up. I doubt the White Fang or Torchwick will be staying here for long. "

Jaune didn't say another word; he turned and sprinted for the locker room.

* * *

He dashed through the facility and reached his lockers quickly and easily. Thankfully, he didn't possess the misfortune to run into anyone. He quite literally ripped off the door to his locker and pulled out his weapons. That time for finesse was over. He needed to be as fast as possible, if the way that Blake was twitching when he left was any indication. She was obviously on edge and felt strongly about what was going on—though he had no idea why. Wait… maybe it had something to do with her cat ears? Did she have sort of history with the White Fang?

Holy shit, maybe if he helped her out, she'd let him pet her ears. He'd always wanted to pet a faunus—wait, did that make him racist?

The Lone Wanderer shook his head and finished strapping both Crocea Mors and the Mysterious Magnum at his waist. This wasn't the time for thought. He needed to act, to look over Blake and make sure that she got back to Ruby. He left behind his normal blue outfit in the locker, remaining clad in the jeans and white shirt that his work required.

He turned away, before a thought struck him and he went back to the locker. He pulled out a stimpak, one of the three he possessed, one of the three in all of Remnant. He always kept one on his person, and it wouldn't do to go into a fight without it.

He bolted back through the facility, headed straight for the room where he'd left Blake. He was brash and drove headlong through doors, his footsteps echoing through the halls, hoping that the White Fang would be too preoccupied outside. He heard the roar of bullheads outside, along with grinding machinery, hopefully enough to distract his enemies and keep his own movements covered. Throw caution to the wind; get back to Blake and Sun, then get to work. He sprinted through the loading section of a warehouse.

In that moment, misfortune finally made itself known.

The large warehouse door just beside him rattled open.

"Alright animals, loot whatever dust is in there, then get back out. We got a timetable, so hurry it up! I want things wrapped up in ten min—"

Roman Torchwick stopped mid-sentence. The several White Fang grunts he'd been ordering also stopped. They all looked straight at the Lone Wanderer.

Shit.

"Well would you look at what we have here… get him!"

There were three grunts, one of whom carried a rifle, while the others each had large, cleaver-like swords. The two rushed him, and the third immediately opened fire. Torchwick leaned back and smiled, content to watch the show.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

* * *

Blake had been incredibly tempted to go on without them. She'd wanted to get ahead and take a look for herself, make sure that it really was Torchwick, as Jaune had testified.

So that's what she'd done.

Listen, she was a girl of her word, alright… but that didn't mean she couldn't take slight discretion. She'd simply snuck up ahead, stuck to the unnoticed corners and hard-to-see places. She was wary not to take comfort in the shadow, well aware of her kin's ability to see through the night. Nevertheless, she practiced stealth and got close enough to clearly see the unmistakable figure that was Roman Torchwick: flamboyant and arrogant, there was no mistaking him.

Her knees felt weak. Her face fell into a sad frown. It was true, then. Weiss was right… the White Fang had resorted to petty thievery and even found it befitting to work alongside a human. Not only that, but a human as scrupulous and despicable as Roman Torchwick, who easily represented the worst that humanity had to offer, who was an incarnation of everything that the White Fang hated.

But why? Why!?

She gripped the hilt of Gambol Shroud and grit her teeth. Her whole body tensed and she was a fraction of a second away from pouncing out and demanding answers.

She clenched her eyes shut. No. You have no backup. If there was at least someone behind her, then she'd take the leap and jump into the fray, but there was no one. She had no support… she'd just wait a second for Jaune and Sun to get back, and the very moment they were together, or even just one of them was back, she'd fulfill that burning itch that scrambled around in her mind, that demanded she rush in and get to the bottom of things.

She opened her eyes again, and her gaze focused in on the hated figure of Torchwick, who was pressing a button beside the storage bay and ordering some of the White Fang operatives to come near. That in itself was absurd, that they'd ever be taking orders from the likes of him.

The door opened, then there was a pregnant pause. For just a moment, Torchwick and the White Fang hesitated, before they rushed in and shooting rang out.

Blake's eyes widened. Had it been Jaune or Sun? Or just a dock-worker who'd been fortunate enough to escape the initial attack, then now had the misfortune of being caught. Well, no matter what it was, the die had been cast and she was called to action.

She rushed out while drawing Gambol Shroud. She'd try a gamble first. These were her people. She could reason with them, certainly, get to the bottom of this, figure something out.

"Brothers! Sisters!" she shouted, drawing the attention of the nearby White Fang. "What's happening here? What are you doing, working with the likes of Roman Torchwic-ack!"

And just like that, her attempt at diplomacy fell apart, as her former comrades opened fired, filling the night with colorful blasts of dust rounds and the vapid cracks of their guns jolting off. She feverishly flashed Gambol Shroud before her, batting back the dust rounds as she scrambled to dart to the side and weave away from their line of fire. She leapt and flipped through the air, landing behind a crate and giving herself the chance to duck out and around stacks of machinery and more crates, losing them, if just for a moment. But a moment was all she needed to dash toward Torchwick and the open door, where the fight had first sparked off.

The moment she got there… her eyes widened.

* * *

Let's say you went to Signal Academy. This is a school that trains future huntsman and huntresses for five-years' time, usually from the age of 12 to 17. At this school, the huntsman and huntresses would learn about the Grimm, their future duties, as well as basic history, science, literature and mathematics, as a typical school would demand. They would also develop their own unique fighting styles and craft their weapons. The students would hone their skills and abilities to be wickedly lethal against the Grimm. However, these battle schools took great care when teaching their students to fight other people. They stressed altering one's style to be non-lethal, as it is their duty to hunt Grimm, not people. Not only that, but the Vytal treaty expressly forbids the use of designated huntsman and huntresses in military matters: they are only to fight against the Grimm and also enforce law within a state's sovereign territory, and law enforcement always attempts to end situations non-lethally. As such, a student who went to Signal would have been well-versed in a non-lethal type of fighting for subduing enemies, both with and without aura. By pulling the strength behind attacks and directing ones' strikes at certain parts of the body, one can still fight with devastating effect, while avoiding lethality.

The Lone Wanderer did not go to Signal Academy. He did not go to any battle school, actually. He learned to fight in the wasteland. It showed.

The corpse of the rifle-armed White Fang grunt lay sprawled on the floor, riddle with three bullet holes in the chest and an additional one in the face, which had ripped through his skull. The body lay in a pool of its own blood, a pool which was slowly seeping outward and growing. At the Wanderer's feet, lay the mangled corpse of one of the sword-bearers, who's arm he'd torn through in one deft strike, then disemboweled with another slash, before tearing his throat open with Crocea Mors's many vicious teeth, letting the body fall to the ground as he dealt with the last. He'd caught the man's sword with his own, then ground Crocea Mors down along the blade and chewed into his hand with the saw, disarming his opponent. Then, he'd spun and kicked his legs out from under him, sending the man down to the floor, cradling his mauled hand.

The fight had ended in mere moments.

Now, he grabbed the man by the hair and wrenched him up to his knees, placing the edge of Crocea Mors against his throat. He'd taken his finger off the trigger, and the ripper-sword had revved down, becoming quiet save for a slow rumble, ready at any moment to fly back into action.

"What the hell are you doing here?" the Lone Wanderer asked, though he directed the question at Torchwick.

"Why, I'm just a busy entrepreneur, working to better his business," Torchwick said with a smile.

"Why are you working with the White Fang? _How_ are you working with them?"

"Like I said: I'm a busy entrepreneur. I found some interested business partners, and here we are," Torchwick said with a shrug. He took a cigar out of his pocket, placed it in his mouth and lit it. "Now kid, I got to ask, just what the hell are they teaching in Beacon these days?" Torchwick said, gesturing at the corpses. "Aren't you all supposed to be goody-two-shoes?"

"Don't test me," the Lone Wanderer warned.

Torchwick chuckled and took the cigar out of his mouth, blowing a cloud of smoke as he did so. "Oh really now? You think you're hot stuff?"

"You have no idea who I am."

"Eh, I think I've got a decent clue. What, you think you're slick because you got a funny-looking face and enough of a backbone to stick it where it matters in a fight?" Torchwick shrugged. "By the way, it's actually pretty cute, seeing you try and take a hostage like that. You know, a hostage situation only works if you're willing to go through with the threat—"

The Lone Wanderer pulled Crocea Mors's trigger and wrenched back. The ripper-sword screamed madly, as did the hostage; the latter's screams were shortly overcome by the former's. Blood sprayed across the floor while the White Fang grunt thrashed pitifully, pathetically, before becoming extremely still after not more than a second. With a grunt, the Wander yanked up just as Crocea Mors was most of the way through the man's neck.

The body slumped to the side onto the floor, still spewing incredible amount of blood from all the slashed arteries. Meanwhile, the Lone Wanderer held the head in one hand. He dropped it, then kicked it mid-air, sending it spiraling towards Torchwick. It missed the man by a few feet, but in its tumbling, several splashes of blood spilled on the criminal's previously pristine suit. A streak of blood even landed on his cheek.

There was a silence.

Slowly, Torchwick brought a napkin out from his coat pocket, which he brought up to his face, which now held a stoic expression that was etched from stone, the mocking demeanor gone. He wiped off the blood which had landed on his skin. Not for a second, did he take his eyes off the Wanderer, not even to blink.

He threw the napkin aside, then brought up his hand again to take a few more puffs of his cigar. Smoke clouded just in front of his face, dissipating slowly. He eyed the Wanderer not with fear, not at all, but with serious caution that hadn't been present prior.

"You know," he eventually said, "I haven't seen anything like that since the last time I made a trip to Vacuo. You from Vacuo, by chance?"

"The wasteland… the Vacuo Wasteland."

"Hmph, that would explain it." Torchwick placed the cigar back into his mouth. "At least I got a nice idea of what I'm dealing with now." Without warning, he swung his cane up, and the iron-sights on the end flipped away, revealing the barrel's opening. He fired.

The Wanderer's eyes widened, but he reacted fast enough to roll to the side, narrowly avoiding the large dust round which careened past him and caused an explosion further within the building. Hot air buffeted him from behind, and he stumbled forward. Desperate to stay on his feet, he went with the stumbling and rushed outside, wheeling around Torchwick, sword brandished.

The cool night air pressed against his skin, but he didn't have any time to enjoy the sensation. Torchwick launched himself against him in a swift barrage of attacks, deftly swinging his cane. The man was skilled, that was for sure. He and the Lone Wanderer fought to a stalemate at first, before the Wanderer managed to get close enough to spit in his eyes, allowing for a brief opening where he raked Crocea Mors along the man's abdomen's.

Torchwick cried out and back away, but brought his guard up quickly once more, staving off the Wanderer's follow-up attacks.

The Wanderer heard a commotion. Never taking his attention off of Torchwick, but observing through his blurry peripheral sight, he saw the rest of Torchwick's White Fang goons engaged by a speedy, dark figure that could on be Blake. A moment later, the color of gold alerted him to Sun's arrival.

Good, if he could just hold off Torchwick until those two finished up…

Easier said than done.

Torchwick was a fighter unlike any that the Wanderer had faced since coming to Remnant. In a way, the Wanderer had gotten complacent, gotten used to people fighting with honor or playing by rules. Torchwick, however, didn't abide by those standards. He'd learned in the field, just like the Wanderer, and he wasn't above the scrappy, dirty tricks that many others shunned.

Torchwick managed to hook the handle of his cane around Crocea Mors as the Wanderer stabbed out for his throat, whipping it aside and giving him the opportunity to lash out with his fist. While close, he spat the cigar out of his mouth and blew a gust of smoke right into the wanderer's eyes, reducing him to a squint.

The end of his cane whipped up into his face, snapping his head back and staggering him. The Wanderer sneered and lashed out in a wide, horizontal slash to keep his opponent at a distance while he was dazed. That attack wasn't necessary.

Torchwick had already stepped back and, with a cocky smile, twirled his cane and pointed it straight at the Wanderer, who's eyes weren't yet adjusted from the smoke and the strike. For just a moment, he was a sitting duck, and Torchwick planned on taking full advantage of the moment. He fired.

The Lone Wanderer pried his eyes open just in time for them to widen as he saw the explosive dust headed right for him. Its red glare cut through the night and stabbed into his retinas, filling his brain with panicked jolts of electricity as the light was sent in and interpreted as the grave threat it was. Commands were sent out into his muscles, but they'd have time to do little else than tighten in preparation to evade, never getting the chance to actually dodge before the missile struck.

Suddenly, something tightened about his ankles, and the world flipped.

The projectile missed him a razor's edge as Blake yanked back on her ribbon and wrenched him at an odd angle, such that Torchwick missed him by a no more than an inch. He felt the dust round's het against his flesh, before it careened past him through the night until it hit a large container. A container filled with dust, which promptly exploded into a massive plume of confused elements, from lightning to fire to gusts of wind and gouts of steam. The explosion proved the first of several dominoes, as nearby containers and crates were agitated and propelled into instability.

The Wanderer winced as the shockwave washed over him, bashed against his eardrums, buffeted his eyes with gusts of dusty wind, haphazardly chucked scraps of shrapnel against him and forcing his aura to flare all over him.

When it was done, an inferno had taken hold of a chunk of the docks, spewing smoke into the sky.

"God damn it!" Torchwick shouted. "Hey, you idiots, get the bullheads loaded and get out here, asap! We're out of time!"

The Lone Wanderer tugged off Blake's ribbon, and she quickly pulled it back to herself… keeping her distance from him, not even offering him a hand to help him up. Behind he saw the grunts she'd been fighting left on the ground, while the rest were fleeing for the bullheads, trying to finish loading them.

"Here man, get up!" Sun said, reaching out and helping the Wanderer get back to his feet. "Alright, we got this guy on the ropes—"

"Look out!" Blake shouted. It was too late.

Something flew through the air and smashed into Sun's face, sending him flying back with a short, pained grunt.

The Wanderer's eyes widened but quickly snapped to the direction where the attack had come from. He raised Crocea Mors. The man with the gas mask had hurled his supersledge straight at Sun, nailing him dead-on. Now he brandished his power-fist, arming it and the vicious piston that held so much power.

"I'll take care of him, beat down Torchwick!" The Wanderer shouted to Blake, who nodded and quickly dashed towards the criminal, Gambol Shroud raised. A glance over his shoulder confirmed that Sun was dazed and weak, but rising to his feet. When he glanced back, the man in the gas mask was charging—fast closing the distance.

The Lone Wanderer brandished Crocea Mors.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

The moment that the man in the gas mask — Art — came close, he revved the ripper blade and pressed in with a flurry of sawing slashes.

Art batted back each strike with the back of his gauntlet, striking out with his power-fist to beat back every attack. The Wanderer stabbed out for his face, and instead of block it, he slightly shifted his head, such that the edge of the saw scraped against his mask while he stepped close into the Wanderer's guard and delivered a short, punishing punch to the gut.

The Wanderer grunted and bit his teeth, but adapted to the momentum of the strike and shifted out, taking advantage of his ripper's ever-moving teeth to rake it against the man's arm. A normal sword would've barely made a cut, but with a brief application of pressure, Crocea Mors was able to chew into his aura, if only for a moment, before the Wanderer disengaged.

Art didn't spare a second for respite. He stomped forward and tried to get into the Wanderer's guard once more, hoping to take advantage of the sword's comparative disadvantage against the power-fist: reach.

But the Lone Wanderer was well-practiced in countering close-range strikes by those crafty enough to employ them. He held Crocea Mors vertically and tucked it close to himself, bracing the hilt with both hands to keep good control of the sword as he flashed it back and forth in front of himself, the roaring teeth just inches away from his own skin. A risky tactic, to be sure, but not so for one who'd wielded the weapon so well for so long.

Nevertheless, Art had power behind each strike, expertly shifting his stocky body to pivot as much energy as he could using as many muscles in his body as was available, such that then, even his legs and hips and shoulders were working with his arms to delivering brutal punch after brutal punch, and not just with the fist clad in the gauntlet. His unarmored fist struck out as well, with not discountable strength behind those knuckles, smacking at his side and his arms, trying to wrest Crocea Mors out of position as he wielded his power-fist deftly and threateningly. Quick, choppy movements with all the efficiency and power of a machine characterized Art's fighting: disciplined and skilled to such a degree that a military background was all but confirmed.

The Lone Wanderer snarled and barely kept his pace in the grueling, close-quarters fight. He'd take a few steps back, then stomp a few steps forward, trading the tactical advantage with Art as each clashed against the other's defense with short, calculated offenses.

He clenched his teeth and bore on through the fight, which was hard and, if he was being honest, deteriorating for him. Art was pragmatic and vicious, and he'd already landed some substantial blows on the Wanderer, who could not say the same in return. He was merely treading water, in such a way that he was reminded of his fight with Pyrrha. At any moment, a single miniscule infraction would give all the advantage to Art, and it would be over. His strategy was a patient one, cruelly effective. Victory would be hard fought… if it was to be won at all.

Then Sun got involved.

The faunus chose his moment of striking perfectly. Just as Art and the Wanderer took a few steps away from one another, he leapt through the air with a whoop, striking at Art from above in a wide downward strike with his staff.

The suddenness of the attack, not to mention the surprising height that the faunus had managed to gain with but a single jump, took Art by surprise for a moment. He had to pivot and block the staff with his gauntlet, lest he receive a crushing strike to the skull.

But it was an opening, an opportunity, and the Lone Wanderer was quick to take it. He slashed out at Art's ribs in a tight, powerful arc, sending the man grunting and stumbling. From there, the man in the gas mask was on the back foot.

The Wanderer and Sun struck at him quickly and without impunity, one on either side of his guard, such that he had to constantly backpedal to avoid encirclement. Both of them pressed, but made sure to stay at a distance, lest they give him the chance to retaliate with his gauntlet.

Art managed to deflect their strikes as he backpedaled. In one moment, however, he stopped and pressed forward to strike out at them. His attacks were frenzied, and his offensive easily evaded. He was quickly retreating again—just in a different direction.

Again, he was forced back and back, until Sun spun up and caught him in the mask with his staff. The man dramatically spiraled backwards and crumpled to the floor, and the Wanderer was impressed with the amount of strength that Sun had managed to put into the hit. But he didn't slow down. He advanced around the side, intent to cut off Art's escape, while Sun dashed in front from the front.

Art suddenly thrust himself up— supersledge in hand.

Sun's eyes widened, but he wasn't able to bring his guard up fast enough to block the head of the hammer coming up and catching him under the chin. The Wanderer winced as the faunus's teeth audibly cracked together and he was hurled back by the brutal blow.

The Lone Wanderer put thoughts aside and attacked Art once more, but the man pivoted on a dime and jammed the end of his hammer's long hilt straight into the Wanderer's gut, cutting off his attack, before he jolted forward and crashed his the cold steel of his gas mask against the Wanderer's forehead, whipping his head back and leaving him open for a tight jab with the power-fist straight to his ribs, which crushed what was left of his guard and enabled Art to swing in a wide Arc, crashing the head of his hammer right in the Wanderer's side and sending him flying back.

As he collapsed to the ground and skidded several feet, he was aware of one thing: there was pain. A good bit of it. From his skull to his chest to his stomach, he was in pain. He forced himself to his feet nonetheless. The assault had been brutal, throwing him down into the yellow.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

He wielded Crocea Mors in front of him; Sun staggered up by his side, cradling his jaw in one hand, staff in the other.

"This guy's no joke," he said.

The Wanderer only grunted.

Art swung his super-sledge about in a flourish, before settling into a combative stance and slowly advancing. The Wanderer scrutinized him all the while, trying to catch his breath.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

He was strong, disciplined and well-trained, to such a degree that the word 'expert' hardly did him any justice. He'd held his own against him with just his power-fist, which was now evidently a secondary weapon, used only in conjunction with the supersledge. So that meant he now had his main weapon, that he was fully armed and no longer held back.

The Wanderer's eyes narrowed.

He'd played them… his earlier attack hadn't been an attack at all, just a move designed for him to change the direction of his retreat, until he could feign an over-dramatic reaction to Sun's attack and retrieve his supersledge.

This man was dangerous, more than anyone else the Wanderer had yet fought, except perhaps that rogue huntsman he'd faced all that long ago. He hadn't had his aura back then, but even now, that might not matter. Clearly, this man was on another level.

This… this was bad.

"Ack!" A strangled, pained cry caught the Wanderer's attention, but any curiosity was immediately satisfied as Blake was thrown to the ground not far away from them, covered in grim and breathing heavily. She quickly tore herself back to her feet and rushed for the both of them, standing by their side and facing against their opponents.

"Well Art, it looks like the kiddos bit off more than they could chew, huh?" Torchwick said. For all the arrogance in his voice, he was panting and dirtied, showing that Blake hadn't slouched in her share of the fight. "Hey animals!" Torchwick shouted over his shoulder. "Finish loading the bullheads! I want us out in five, before the cavalry gets here!"

Torchwick turned back to the three of them, Art beside him. He brandished his cane; Art, his hammer. The two sides couldn't have been more than twenty feet apart from one another.

"We need to get out of here," the Wanderer said in a low voice. "These guys are too much for us."

"Yeah," Sun said, "I don't think I can take much more of this."

"Then the White Fang will get away…" Blake muttered. Her eyes narrowed into slits, containing a lot of anger and not a little hurt. She clenched her teeth together and scowled… before letting out a sigh. "But you're right..."

The Lone Wanderer nodded, and the three of them started to cautiously back away.

"That's the spirit!" Torchwick said with a smile. "Finally, some brats with sense. Let's get the dust and get out of here Art—"

"No!" The man in the gas mask roared. "I won't let you run away, coward! The Leader must have you!"

He charged forward, headed straight for the middle of the group, straight for the Lone Wanderer.

"Wha-? No! You son of a bitch!" Torchwick shouted, exasperation palpable. Again, he turned around and yelled to the White Fang: "Animals, pick up the pace, we'll be right there!" Then the crook growled and chased after his companion.

Tired and out-matched, the Lone Wanderer did his best. A shame, that it wasn't good enough.

Art smashed into him, and Torchwick came not long after. The former was focused solely on him, while the latter took the attention of Blake and Sun, who manage to hold him off fairly well. The Lone Wanderer was not so lucky.

Art's offensive was merciless and blisteringly quick, with the seemingly unwieldly supersledge being deftly commanded. The power-fist lingered behind each swing of the hammer, ready to crack into the Wanderer's guard at any moment.

He could hardly step back fast enough, with how quickly his defense was being crushed. The man in the gas mask was inexorable, and the Lone Wanderer was only able to do well enough to not be totally beaten immediately. But an upwards swing from his foe crashed up into his haphazard block and sent Crocea Mors out of his hands, while he was tossed back, landing flat on his back.

His eyes widened as the man in the gas mask leapt in the air and brandished his supersledge above him, preparing to deliver a brutal blow—a final blow. It was all the Wanderer could do to shield himself with his arms and close his eyes, wait for the pain.

It didn't come.

Instead, there was an incredibly loud ringing sound, the sound of metal striking metal.

Slowly, he cracked open his eyes. There was figure stood above him, and for a moment, he could see nothing but the strong bronze of their armored legs. Then he looked up, saw that the figure had a shield raised and braced, had stopped the attack dead. Then he looked more. A wash of long, scarlet hair, that could belong to only one person he knew. The figure glanced down to him, and her emerald eyes were filled with the steely resolve of one committed to combat… but there was something softer there, a kind of relief as her gaze fell upon him.

Pyrrha Nikos smiled down at her partner.

An explosion rocked off not far away, and a pink blur shot into the scene.

"BONZZZZZZZZAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!" Nora screamed as she hurtled herself toward the enemy with reckless abandon, smashing into Art like a bubblegum cannonball and rocketing him away. He flew through the air and crashed into a shipping container, tearing a hole through the sheet metal and collapsing inside.

Nora dropped to the floor and rolled, before springing up to her feet with a cheerful smile. "Ta-da!" she cried, throwing her arms up into the air and brandishing Magnhild. The smile on her face, as usual, was radiant and, given the present context, a little psychotic.

The Wanderer felt hands on his shoulders, and he quickly realized that Ren had grabbed hold of him and was propping him up. With his help, the Wanderer got back to his feet.

"W-what are you guys doing here?" he asked.

"We saw the explosion, then rushed over. Figured we should return the favor," Pyrrha replied.

"Favor _ **s**_ _,"_ Ren said, stressing the final letter.

"Yup!" Nora said.

Several familiar cracks rang out, and Jaune smiled when he saw Ruby rip through the air, firing Crescent Rose behind her, reaching ridiculous speeds as she flew through the air, then striking down against Torchwick with a blindingly quick swing of the scythe. The crook cried out as he was sent flying back. Just behind her, Weiss and Yang ran in, along with a ginger-haired girl the Wanderer had never seen before.

They… they'd all come?

"You've… you've all come?" he asked.

"It would appear so," Pyrrha said with a dry chuckle. "Are you having a hard time believing it?"

"We're just doing for you, what you did for us!" Nora said, skipping up beside him.

"After all, we're good people. Isn't that what you said?" Ren said.

The Wanderer looked at him curiously.

"What you said, when you thought we were asleep?"

The Lone Wanderer stared blankly for a moment, before a memory almost two months gone returned to him. Jaune's eyes widened.

"I think we should talk through everything _after_ we get out of a warzone," Pyrrha said.

"Yeah, but you've got a LOT of explaining to do, mister!" Nora said with a huff, outstretching an accusatory finger toward him, mere inches from his face. "Like, a TON! The most explaining that anyone has ever explained, EVER!"

"A little dramatic, but yes," Ren said.

Their conversation was interrupted when the shipping container Art had been thrown into rattled. The locked doors were ripped off their hinges as he tore out with an angry roar.

"Art, you idiot!" Torchwick called as he ran away from a fresh onslaught by RWBY, " _this_ is the cavalry I was talking about!" He whipped around just in time to hastily block a barrage fists by Yang, but Weiss ducked around and snuck a quick stab under his guard. The pain made him flinch, and Yang took the chance to smash a fist into his face.

He flew backwards, but was caught by Art, who quickly propped him up beside him. The two criminals stood side-by-side, while JNPR, RWBY, Sun and the ginger faced off against them. Two versus three had been rough, but two versus ten?

Ren handed Jaune Crocea Mors, which he must've picked up earlier. Still in shock, his weak fingers curled around the weapon's handle. He glanced up and looked around him, saw his team, saw his best friend and her team, saw the beleaguered but determined Sun, saw that bright young ginger girl who just looked so darn happy to be there… despite the fact that 'there' was a warzone. Nevertheless… they were all together.

He smiled and revved the ripper sword to life.

In the distance, both of the White Fang's bullheads took the sky.

"Worry not, friends, for I am combat ready!" the ginger girl said. Suddenly, swords started flying out of her backpack, and they quickly whirred in a circle and… and… and…

Jaune had thought he'd seen it all. He really had. He'd though he'd seen all the strangeness Remnant had to offer, from eldritch monsters to crazy weapons to magic powers to a complete disregard for the basic laws of physics. But as she twirled her swords around and summoned a massive laser beam which cut through both the bullheads like they were butter…?

Well, his jaw dropped as he watched this teenage girl exert all the strength of Liberty Prime.

"God damn it Art! You stupid bastard! We've lost all the dust and all those animal louts!"

"Shut up! I called in some of my own _cavalry_ when I heard the fighting start, we'll be fine."

Police sirens sounded in the distance. Rapidly approaching.

"Oh boy, is that them!?" Roman shouted. "Damn it, we could've been out of here with the dust, but you just had to drag it on, huh?"

Art lashed out, his discipline finally dissipating.

"A greedy street-rat like yourself cannot judge my convictions!"

"Ahem."

"Convictions? Convictions!? Whatever grudge you and your _Leader_ have, just ruined this whole job!"

"Ahem."

"There will be more dust, but this chance was too great to let go!"

"Ahem!"

"Why you dumb—"

"AHEM!"

The two criminals stopped fighting and looked over.

Weiss had taken a step forward, the only one in the group capable of anything close to a kind of diplomatic outreach. She massaged her throat, recently ripped slightly raw by her efforts to get the criminals' attention.

"I think," Weiss said, "that this is the part where you two surrender." She placed her hands on her hips and tossed back her shoulders imperiously. "And I think we shall graciously accept taking you into custody."

Art looked to the side, then chuckled bitterly. "I don't think that'll be happening, kid."

In the distance, there was a rumbling. It was light, barely hovering on the edge of perception, but it shortly grew. It sounded like a growl, one which originated quietly in the back of a beast's throat, only to increase and rise and become empowered, until finally, the monster opens its jaws and lets loose its fury.

Shortly, a bullhead was upon them. It wasn't bulky like most models, however. No, this one was streamlined and jet black, noticeable only through the twin crimson glows of its engines, which were roaring louder than an angry ursa.

It screeched forward in seconds, flying low and opening fire without a moment's hesitation. Twin guns on its nose blasted fire on the teens, strafing them with a hail of bullets.

Jaune grit his teeth as he felt a few rounds smash into his aura, which by now must have been beaten into the red. His comrades cried out in similar pain, ducking away and scrambling for cover as the attack bullhead pulled up and flipped through the air, slowing down and falling into a hover mode.

The bullhead slowly descended to the ground, above Art and Torchwick, as it continued to unleash fire onto the young huntresses and huntsman, who were barely able to dash away and find cover under the relentless barrage.

"That is a Class-55 Atlesian Combat Craft, codenamed Bullhorn! Outdate by years, it is nevertheless a vicious weapon!" the ginger shouted as she ducked behind a crate. "Criminals should not possess those!"

"Can't agree with you more, Penny!" Yang shouted back.

Jaune had to concur. That bullhorn was more like a weapon than a vehicle, which reminded him much of the Enclave's assault vertibirds. But reminiscing here would serve no one anything, so Jaune was quick to duck his head and dash behind a forklift.

He heard next to nothing aside from the roar of the engines and the roar of the machine guns, but he braved a peak around his cover to look at what was happening. He scowled. The bullhorn had gotten closer to the ground. Its side door opened. Inside, he saw another man clad in black and donning a gas mask, beckoning Art and Torchwick. The two leapt up and grabbed hold of the railing on the sides of the bullhorn, and they were quickly helped up by the man inside.

They were going to get away.

The man closed the door, and the bullhorn rose once more into the air. It stopped firing and turned away, and only then, was Jaune able to tell just how close to the police sirens had gotten. If those bastards got away, then it was barely by the skin of their teeth, if they even managed to avoid the pursuit that would be close behind them.

"Oh no you don't!" said the ginger girl—Penny. She hopped up on top of the crate she'd been hiding behind, once more summoning her swords. She wouldn't have the time to summon another laser, but she had something else in mind.

She sent her swords hurtling through the air, until they struck the bullhorn, which was just about to accelerate and speed away. Just like that, she ensnared the vehicle and stopped it from getting the momentum that it needed. The aircraft tried press forward anyway, threatening to tear Penny off of her feet, but again, Jaune was astonished by the girl's sheer strength as she grit her teeth and held her ground.

Suddenly, the bullhorn twisted in the air, turned back to them. Penny struggled to keep her footing, but adjusted well enough to the wrenching. It was shortly evident, however, that the bullhorn's pilot had more in mind than just trying to shake her loose. Compartments in the bullhorn's underbelly slid open, and racks of rockets extended out.

Penny's eyes widened, as did Jaune's, as did just about everyone's, as the rockets suddenly rattled and roared to life, streaking through the air towards them.

Immediately, Penny loosened her sword and hopped away as the container underneath her exploded, sending her flying, though hopefully her aura would be enough to keep her well. However, the bullhorn's pilot obviously wasn't concerned about precision when unleashing his barrage, for a full salvo hurtled out towards not just Penny, but the entire swathe of the docks they'd taken refuge at, and both RWBY and JNPR were sent desperately scrambling to avoid the rockets as they fell upon them.

Immediately, an inferno sprung to life, as the rockets exploded and ignited all the facility's remaining dust, annihilating the containers and machinery around them as well as the building behind them. Debris, smoke and confusion was the order of the day.

Jaune had managed to dodge away and avoid a direct strike from any explosive, but that wasn't to say he was untouched. For one, his poor aura was having a hard time keeping all the shockwaves and debris from tearing him apart. All he could hear was a constant, tinny ring; and he could barely stand, with how shaky his legs were; and he could hardly breath, with how much oxygen was being consumed by the fast-growing flames and how winded he was by the fight and how hurt his chest and lungs must be by the beating he'd received; and every muscle in him felt worn and overstretched.

With no small measure of difficulty, he managed to stay on his feet and look around as the smoke cleared. He rubbed the ash out of his eyes and blinked, trying to dispel the blur which had corrupted his vision. Firstly, he noticed the bullhorn, now free, turn and shoot away, picking up speed faster and faster until it was nearly out of sight. A compliment of bullheads flew overhead after it, likely from the police and the news, but he could already tell that they wouldn't be catching up.

"Damn it!" he cursed, stomping his foot into the ground, exhaustion temporarily overcome by his sheer anger. He shook his head. It was gone…

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

That's better, do it again.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

Okay, now where are the others?

His eyes widened. The others! How could he be so stupid? Everyone else! What had become of them? He looked around frantically, but his panic was quickly put to rest.

Nora was helping Ren off the floor. Penny was limping back towards them from wherever she'd been thrown. Blake stood stumbled towards Weiss, Ruby and Yang, clinging to Sun for support. And Pyrrha…

Well, she was gingerly rising to her feet. It seemed that she'd caught a blast more directly, since her bronze armor was thoroughly burned and blackened, her skin covered in soot and small scrapes and bruises. Nevertheless, she seemed able to stand. However, she cradled her head, likely even more dazed than he was, if she'd taken a rocket head-on.

He dragged one foot in front in front of the other, then another in front of that, determined to reach her, to help her get a hold of her senses, to make sure that she'd be okay. He'd make sure she was okay.

His own disorientation was receding, and besides being able to see, his hearing was also returning to him. Enough, that he could vaguely perceive the hideous screech of ripping metal just beside him. He looked to the side.

It was one of the cranes they kept at the dock, to haul up the larger shipping containers for loading. A rocket must have strayed and hit near it, for the base of it was warped and smoking, a large chunk of the bottom struts torn out. The rivets that had been keeping it down tore out and the steel holding the crane up was shredded under its own weight as it crumpled and collapsed.

It fell over… and his eyes widened as he traced the path of its descent.

She was still dazed. She hadn't noticed a thing. She would be crushed.

His feet moved. He got close.

His hands moved. He pushed her.

Pyrrha was knocked several feet away, just barely into safety…

But it was all Jaune could do, to close his eyes as the wreck of steel crushed him.

Things became dark.

* * *

"But he's gonna be okay?"

"For the last time: _yes_ ," Miss Goodwitch said with a sigh. "Your care is admirable, but don't let it cloud your senses so much that I need to repeat everything I say."

"Sorry…" Ruby muttered as she looked away. "It's just that… I really want him to be okay." She stood at the front of RWBY, with the other three members of JNPR just beside her, with Sun standing near Blake. Penny had been whisked away, though not too willingly. Those who remained, waited in the lobby of the Vale Central Hospital.

Others in the lobby looked at the group in awe, recognizing them as none other than the people whose faces were plastered on the news at that very moment, the skirmish at the docks having occurred just a few hours earlier.

All of them had some bandages over their skin, but nothing major. Their aura would take care of cuts and bruises in a matter of hours, certainly no more than a few days. Only one person had made exception to this. A big exception.

"We all do," Pyrrha added, placing a comforting hand on Ruby's shoulder.

"Yeah, and once he feels better, we can get our _explanations!"_ Nora said.

The remote edges of Glynda Goodwitch's lips curved upwards slightly, so slightly that it was nigh imperceptible and nearly required a microscope to be viewed. But it was there. She always loved seeing her students care for each other. In this case, even more so. She'd long had her worries about team JNPR, but it seems they'd finally managed to work things out. Now, if only this 'working out' didn't involve a deadly confrontation with criminals and a harrowing trip to the hospital.

"Well, the doctor assured me that he'll be able to recover, especially with his significant well of aura. A couple weeks of rest and physical therapy should have him in acceptable shape again—just in time for finals." The students cringed as the dreaded tests were mentioned, and Miss Goodwitch enjoyed that particular kind of good-natured amusement that all teachers are privy to, when they make their students miserable in benign ways.

"I'm surprised he'll be able to recover so quickly," Ren said. "We were certain he wouldn't make it, given we weren't able to find any heartbeat." The others become solemn, faces dropping at the recent memory of panic and hopelessness.

Miss Goodwitch gave herself a moment to come up with a lie by adjusting her glasses. "The doctor said that his pulse was simply weak. Without training, it's unsurprising that you weren't able to find it."

"But even the medics weren't able to find one."

"Then they likely weren't too experienced. Rest assured, Mr. Arc's heart is beating soundly."

They all nodded and accepted the excuse. She didn't like lying to her students, but she liked giving out their personal information even less.

"Can we at least see him? To make sure he's okay?" Ruby asked.

"The doctor said that you may, but silence is required. You cannot disturb his rest; right now, he needs as much sleep as he can get."

They all nodded or muttered their own assents. Undoubtedly, they'd rather talk with him, but that was simply impossible. They'd just have to temper their youthful impatience, if only for a moment. Even the likes of Ren and Blake, both known for being exceptionally cool-headed, seemed anxious to see him.

Miss Goodwitch lead them all down the halls of the hospital, back to Jaune Arc's room. He'd been moved from emergency care to a regular unit to recuperate. His aura had been annihilated, with not so much as a sliver remaining when he'd been brought to the hospital. Now, it had managed to recover somewhat, though it'd be a while before it crawled its way out of the red.

She stopped just outside of his room, then turned back to face the rest of the students. "Again, you must all be silent. No touching, either." Nora visibly deflated at that last note, likely having planned to give him some helpful cuddles.

Satisfied with their promises, Miss Goodwitch opened the door, only for her eyes to widen.

The bed was empty; the window, open.

* * *

The Lone Wanderer staggered haphazardly down the street. Each step took a monumental effort, as every muscle in his body cried out in pain and exhaustion. He wanted to do nothing other than crumple down to the floor and sleep, sleep and sleep and sleep until it was all gone.

He looked over his shoulder, blearily saw the hospital in the distance. Then he sighed. He needed to get away, get out of sight.

Thank goodness it was so late at night, otherwise any pedestrians out would have given curious looks to the boy dressed in a hospital gown, painfully, slowly, laboriously limping down the street.

He wheezed with each step, barely able to keep himself upright, barely able to keep hold of what was in his arms. His clothes, folded, as well as his weapons and equipment. This included an empty stimpak syringe.

He never would have been able to make it this far, had it not been for the stimpak. He'd barely managed to crawl out of bed, then drag himself across the floor to his where his belongings were, lying on a chair in the corner of the room. Every ounce of strength had been required to haul his arm in the air and drag the needle down, then press it through his weak aura, which receded without so much as a flicker before the needle's sharp point. From there, the adrenaline and restorative chemicals had gotten him out the window and down the street.

He only had two more stimpaks, left in Beacon, along with the other materials. He'd need all that too. He'd need it. He'd need it… now that he was leaving.

He looked back over his shoulder, at the hospital, barely perceivable in the distance. Did they know by now, that he'd gone? Were they looking for him at this very moment?

He turned around and forced himself to go faster, though that resulted in him tripping over and collapsing to the sidewalk after just a few strides. He forced himself back up, feeling like he weighed a couple hundred pounds more than he did.

He picked up his things and dragged them up into his grasp, then limped off of the sidewalk, away from the road into an alley. From there, he lost himself. That was kind of the point, though. He wanted to be lost amidst the twisting, dark, grimy alleys.

He tripped again, falling and smacking his face painfully against the dirty ground. He couldn't even see in the alley, but that wasn't the reason for his fall. He hadn't tripped over anything, so much as succumbed to the exhaustion. He was too weak, to uncoordinated. He just couldn't go any further.

Nevertheless, he persisted. He stayed on the ground for a little while, before drawing in a shaky, beleaguered breath. He dragged himself up to his feet once more, then blinked and tried to make out a place where he could hunker down. A dumpster caught his eye.

With a painful grunt, he pried the lid open, happy to see that it was empty, aside from a few rats, some leftover trash and a terrible smell. He didn't care. He'd dealt with worse in the wasteland.

He threw in his things, then, with great labor and greater pain, hauled himself over the edge, falling in with a clang. With the last of his strength, he reached back up and closed the lid once more, sealing himself off from the world.

His breathing, hot and heavy, mingled with the squeaking and scurrying of the rats to create and uncomfortable din, which itself mingled with the uncompromising darkness and disgusting stench to create an atmosphere wholly unpleasant and claustrophobic. Again, he didn't care. Again, he'd been through worse in the wasteland. He was safe enough, and he'd be able to sleep for a while, which was all he needed.

His eyes shut. They wouldn't be able to find him.

They.

His friends.

Ruby.

He was running away from them…

"Not again... never again..." he weakly whispered to himself. It was familiar, too familiar. Waking up in a hospital, gravely injured, just after a battle with his comrades, with his team, with the people he cared about, people who'd all been endangered, people he'd nearly failed, who he could fail. Who he would fail. That was all he did anymore.

With a lingering sense of melancholy and shame, he fell into an uneasy slumber.

* * *

 **Jaune, you stupid asshole, what are you doing!? I didn't write over a hundred-thousand words of this crap just for you to run away the moment everything seems to be coming together! Oh well, nothing can ever be easy for our hero. If it was, then we wouldn't have much of a story, now would we? Rest assured, next chapter will reveal a lot, about the present, as well as the past.**

 **You know, I initially wanted to make this story rated T, if only for the sake of greater visibility. But that just isn't possible, given the dark world I want to build. Like, in T, I couldn't freely have him rip people's heads off and kick them like soccer balls, for which there is a reason beyond just being cool. Jaune's casual commitment to ultra-violence goes along with a major theme of this story: innocence. I don't think I could cover that as well if I was unable to depict the sort of depravity that has plagued the Lone Wanderer.**

 **Anyways, sorry for such a long update time with this one, but I've been busy with a lot, and this is also the longest chapter yet. I considered splitting it into two, but I didn't like that pacing as much as just one chapter to wrap up the whole docks business. Glad to finally have it out.**

 **Also, I included a nice little reference to Point Lookout in this chapter with some of what Bishop said. I want to get back into referencing more from Fallout, take advantage of the nature of a crossover.**

 **So this is the climax of the story thus far. Think of this as the first of several books. We've gotten into the climax of this book, and the next few chapters will finish that and then be the cool down and resolution. Then, the next book begins with volume 2, and it starts all over!**

 **But for now, the future is unknown. Will Jaune finally stop being an idiot? Will he overcome his crushing emotional insecurity? Will he ever reconcile with his team? What happened to his old team? Why does he run away? Who the hell is Maxwell Noble? Who's Art? Who's this 'Leader' that's been mentioned? What will the ship be?**

 **Find out the answers to *most* of these questions, in the next thrilling installment of NATWWAL!**


	18. Chapter 18

**Oh boy, let's see how things turn out here, now shall we? Also, if you haven't seen my Valentine's Day one-shot, check it out!**

* * *

He dreamt of the death of Maxwell Noble.

As he lay there, curled up in the stuffy dumpster, his wind mind wandered back to a time a year gone by, a time which marked the exact moment where things fell apart. A time, and with it, a place. Adams Air Force Base. He remembered it well. How could he ever forget?

Himself and his team, tasked with going through the subway system alongside the Lyons Pride to infiltrate the Enclave base from within and sabotage their mobile platform while the coalition forces assaulted the base from outside.

Immediately, things had gone terribly. Dogmeat, torn apart by the vast horde of ghouls in the underground, more than he'd ever seen before, and he shook and whined in his sleep as he remembered the sight of his loyal hound ripped in two by a reaver.

That had just been the brutal beginning. The trek through the underground had been grueling, and it was a welcome sight, the robot guards that protected the open entrance up to the base. They had shattered the guards and fought their way back up, immediately striking out across the surface to get to the mobile base. Among their number, was Fawkes, the twins, Sarah and, of course, Maxwell Noble.

They'd reached the mobile base crawler while most of the Enclave's troops were deployed fending off the coalition forces, not least due to the help of his new Tesla Cannon. They infiltrated the platform, quickly fought through it and gotten to the missile controls. They ordered a strike right down on themselves, evacuating afterwards. The strike had crippled the Enclave's base and then annihilated morale, leading to a rousing victory.

But of course, he had been there. How could Special Agent Bishop Beauvais be anywhere but there, fighting to his last breath for his country. To the last breath, to Maxwell Noble's last breath. Too young, they'd said. He'd heard them say it, all the survivor's who'd lived on after that day, who'd known Max in the days before. They'd all said that he was too young, too good. He was a stupid dork, sure, but people liked that. He always managed to put a smile on their faces. He was a good person, and his loss was a tragedy. All the worse then, that his death had been slow and painful. It was at Adams Air Force Base where that good young man had been so fatally wounded, but it was in the weeks after that he drifted away.

That was where the dream brought the Lone Wanderer, it brought him back to the young man's bedside, to watch him as he lay dying.

There had been some hope for him. The Lone Wanderer remembered how he'd trekked out on a final mission, chasing after a final hope, the last thing that could preserve Max's life. But he'd failed. He'd failed, utterly and completely.

"It's all your fault," Bishop says. "There's no one to blame but yourself. If you were a better person, then Max would still be sitting back in the Citadel, laughing, a member of the Lyons Pride. He'd be there, and he'd be happy.

"But you're not a good person; you're you. And you are awful. You are weak. Were you stronger, you would have won at Adams Air Force Base. You would have beaten me. Had you been better, then you would have succeeded.

"You have not. Your failure is your own. You just can't seem to stop doing that, can you? Failing. Losing. Letting down everyone you come across. They all wind up leaving.

"Always."

The Lone Wanderer pried his eyes open. The only source of light that spared him any respite from the darkness was a single shred of the sun that cut through the narrow gap in the dumpster's lid. It was still achingly bright, and he was still incredibly tired, so he closed his eyes again.

When he opened them, there was no light at all. His head ached, but there was no longer any exhaustion in his mind. In his body, for sure. Everything hurt, every muscle ached and evert bone felt like it had nearly been broken. Hell, maybe a few of them _were_ broken. He'd been taken to the hospital, after all.

He groaned. Eventually, he'd need to get up. Eventually… but not now…

The dumpster shuddered as it was opened. A bright light shone down on him, pale and piercing. A flashlight.

"Well what do we have here?" someone asked. He didn't know who it was, recognizing neither the voice, raspy and drawling, nor the face, grimy and unkempt. It was a figure that wouldn't have been out of place back in the wasteland. "Come here, boy!"

The wasteland.

The man reached down and grabbed the Wanderer, then grunted and hauled him up out of the dumpster, slamming him down the hard concrete of the alleyway.

That wasteland.

"Let's see what you got on you—"

And those were his last words. The Lone Wanderer didn't know the man's name. He didn't know his past, but he did know his present, and he certainly knew his future. He pumped his head up and cracked it against the man's own forehead, making him cry out and stumble back, falling against the alley's wall. The Wanderer's aura had recovered enough to spare him from harm, given him strength enough to crack the other man's skull. And now the adrenaline gave him will enough to finish it.

He grabbed the man by the neck and squeezed. He squeezed and he squeezed, no matter how much the stranger squirmed or slapped him. He kept his grip tight and unyielding, a horrendous snarl on his face as he choked the other man to death. And when the man stopped moving, he started punching. He started punching, to make it done. Blood splattered up and covered his fists, his face. He tasted iron as it seeped into his mouth and stained his teeth.

What a way to wake up: murder.

He stood there for a while. A long while, in fact. He looked down at the man before him. It was dark, and he couldn't even make out a single detail. He hunched over and tried to get a view of his face. He picked up the man's flashlight and shined it down on him.

Then he cried out and started back when he saw his own, as if he had been looking in a mirror. His own face, purple and swollen, staring back up at him, eyes accusing and spiteful.

And a moment later, it was gone. There was no body, no blood. There was only him, sitting there, shaking, alone in a dark alleyway all by himself, and now not even a hallucination was there to give him company.

He couldn't say anything. He couldn't do anything. He couldn't even _think_ anything. It was all he could do, to simply be. To be there. That was all.

* * *

It had taken him… well, he had no idea how long it had taken him to reach Beacon. He didn't even have any idea how long it had taken him to get up on his own two feet again. Honestly, he wasn't even sure how he'd managed to make it Beacon. Maybe he'd asked someone for directions, maybe he'd hitched a ride, maybe he'd found his own way through latent memory or maybe he'd simply picked a direction and gotten lucky.

But no matter how it was done, he'd returned to Beacon. The shattered moon was low in the sky, drenching him in a flood of silvery light as he stumbled through the courtyard. He limped and wheezed as he went, still covered in grime, though he'd changed out of the hospital robes and into his charred, torn outfit that he'd worn back the docks, which was among the things kept at the hospital for him. He held Crocea Mors and the Magnum, but he still needed his tesla rifle, not to mention the stimpaks and everything else he'd taken with him from Earth. No matter how much he wanted to leave, he'd need to risk a short return to get what he needed, then escape to his cave, rest some more, recover what little else he had, and leave.

Leave, and never come back. Leave, and return to the life of the Lone Wanderer.

He felt terrible. Everything was sore, but aside from that, it felt as if someone had poured lead down his throat, such that his throat was tightly clamped and his stomach was heavy. This terrible weight pressed down on his shoulders, forcing him to stoop over. This, this was a pain unrelated to his injuries.

He trudged across the courtyard and into the halls, blearily looking ahead of him. No one stopped him, for there was no one around so late at night. That was good, since he didn't think he'd be able to resist should it come to it. The adrenaline that had been pumped into him during his violent little hallucination had worn off by now, and he was left with only his own weary skin and bones to haul him through the school, towards his locker.

He reached the locker room quickly enough, and when he passed by the showers, he couldn't resist.

It was hot and long, his shower. He stripped off his ratty clothes quickly, knowing he kept another spare in his locker, and stumbled into the stall, turning the water on immediately. It instantly became scalding hot, spewing steam through the air and turning his skin pink. Only his aura kept him from being burned. He wanted the sensation, the feeling, the physicality, to make him certain he was really there.

The water washed over his many scars, which he idly traced with the tips of his fingers as the time passed by. Some, he could hardly feel, the faint remains of scrapes and cuts. Others were nastier, the remnants of bites, burns and bullets.

That was what he could expect now. He was going back there, back to the life that he had lived on Earth, back to the violence and the uncertainty. This was the moment of his return, back to the wild, unknown and savage places where he belonged.

Was he really going back to that life? Was that really what he wanted to do, where he wanted to go?

He turned off the water. The steam settled. His skin was left raw and bare. He became cold.

After a while longer, he staggered out of the shower and toweled himself off. He roughly ground the cloth into his skin, feeling the dragging sensation, feeling the coarseness. Feeling. _Feeling._ That was all he wanted right then, all he could desire.

Once he was dry, he pulled on a fresh pair of clothes, though he still managed to feel dirty in a strange way. He hauled all the necessary equipment out of his locker, carried in his large duffel bag, all the holdovers from Earth he still possessed.

His fingers shook as he hauled it up over his shoulder. His legs ached as the additional weight was added on. It was hard enough just to carry himself, let alone everything else. For a moment, he considered taking another stimpak, but the thought quickly left his mind. It would be a terrible waste, taking one of those when he was just tired, when another week of rest with his aura would have him good as new.

No, he'd drag himself outside and crawl through the Emerald Forest, back to his cave. But the Emerald Forest was full of Grimm, what happened if you were attacked? Then I'll fight them off. And if there are too many? Then I'll run. And if they chase you down? Then I'll die.

That's the point of it all, anyways.

He squeezed his eyes shut as images of his friends came into mind… images of Ruby. The look on her face, if she ever heard the news of his death. He couldn't bare to so much as imagine that look… the horror and the pain. But what if she never got the news? Wouldn't that be better? If he just walked away, and she never heard of him again? That would be better.

Would it, though? Would it really? How many nights would she be kept awake, thinking of him? How many times, would she be struck by a thought of him during an idle period, and wonder if he was alive and if he was doing well and if she could have done things differently? How much pain would be drawn out over how much time? How much would she blame herself? How much of a failure would she perceive herself to be?

And how long would it take for her to forget?

For how long, would she think of him daily? Weekly? Yearly? When would it be, what would be the date, when the last thought of him passed through her mind, never to return? How long would it take, for him to be erased, absolutely? How long to reach that time, when it would be as if nothing had even happened in the first place? And what would that final thought be like? Would it be sweet? Angry? Scared? Bitter?

And who would come after him? Who would replace him? Would anyone? Would there be another like him, another guy who would listen to music with her, play video games with her, eat ice cream with her, practice with her, work with her, laugh with her, hug her, comfort her; would there be another, to live with her the way he had?

The way he wanted.

He closed his eyes and brought his hands to his face. For a long while, he stood there, trying his hardest to think of nothing, nothing at all, so he couldn't be hurt.

That was what is was all for… getting nothing, finding nothing, maintaining nothing, to stop the pain.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

He sighed and left the locker room. He limped along, dragged himself through the corridors, hoping that no one would stop him. Hoping that no one would face him now, when he was too weak to do anything other than acquiesce. He just… he just needed to be away from it all. He needed to be gone. He needed to leave.

What he'd done before, he'd do now.

He exited the building and made his way through the courtyard, toward the Emerald Forest, before he turned back to look over his shoulder. Just one last time. Just one last look, to remember the school.

He took it in, the large buildings and the great tower with its great light, the swaying trees and…

The garden. The Beacon garden, the most beautiful place he'd ever visited, the place of his dreams. No, the place beyond his dreams. He'd never dared to think that anywhere so incredible as there could ever really be real, or that he'd ever get the chance to see it.

Just one last chance. Just one final look, to have a memory, to have something to look back on. Just one last time, let him sit among the flowers. Then he could remember it, and in his dark future, he'd always be free to look back and think fondly upon such a recollection as this. Something as sweet and nice as the garden… he needed it.

He needed something that was just like that, something pure and kind, something that would never judge him, something that could make him smile, something that didn't have a drop of malice within it, something that could make him forget about the bad things.

He needed something… someone…

He shook his head. No, no he needed nothing, and no one.

Nevertheless, he trudged forward. He didn't need it… but he wanted it. So, he meandered into the garden and, with a great sigh, sat down upon the marble bench there, in front of the cherry blossom tree and the serene pool in which It resided.

He looked around, took in the unique look of the garden, with all the petals bathing in the nice wash of moonlight. It was a saturnine view, beautiful but somehow melancholy at the same time. He wasn't sure that he liked it.

He decided he did not.

He closed his eyes and tried to breathe. Just breathe, and forget about the things around you. Breathe, collect yourself and leave. Leave, and never come back…

"I knew you'd come here!" Not more than a second later, he felt her lithe arms around him, smelled her strawberry scent.

He froze, not daring to look, not daring to even breathe.

"They didn't think so, but I knew it." Ruby tightened her grip on him, slender arms squeezing him as hard as they could. "I knew you'd be back here." He could practically hear her sweet smile in her happy voice.

For a few long seconds, he said nothing. But then it came, raspy and weak, his voice. "How?"

"We looked at the security cameras to see what happened to you… saw you leave. We all tried really hard to find you, searched all day. We really did!"

"I believe that…"

"But we couldn't find you. That's all we've done for the last couple days."

Days? How long had been out…

"Yeah, and now that we've finally had to stop and come back, I came here to the garden." She sighed. "I'll get in trouble for this, but I don't care. They told me I had to take a break and rest, but I knew that you'd come back here, so I waited. I couldn't miss out on greeting you, after all."

"You knew… that I would come here…?"

"Duh, where else would you go? Of course I knew you'd try to make your way back to us, and to the gardens." She giggled and patted him on the shoulder. "You're kinda predictable, y'know?"

"I… I guess so…."

He finally opened his eyes and looked at her, saw the concern on her face, along with the dark bags beneath her face. She was more haggard than he'd ever seen her before… exertion and anxiety had taken a toll, dampening the vigor she normally had and straining her face with exhaustion. How much had she slept, since he'd run away? He looked up at the night sky. It must be nearing dawn at this point, so low was the moon, so had she been up all night watching over this place for him, waiting for him to come back. Waiting with the slim hope that her failure to find him in the city wouldn't mean failure overall.

He looked at her again, and this time, he noticed a kind of relief, an incredible, happy relief that was bolstered by the cute smile she wore under it. She was so happy to have him back…

"What happened?" she asked. "The doctors said that maybe you had a bad reaction to the medicine and got loopy, so that's why you ran. Is that it? Did you, like, freak out or hallucinate or something?"

Freak out? Yes. Hallucinate? Yes. Something? Yes.

Yes and yes and yes…

But how would he explain it all to her? Why was the universe being so cruel, that it was forcing him to meet with her one last time…

"But it doesn't matter," she said, rising from the bench. "Come on, let's get you the infirmary, I'll wake everybody else up and we can have a sleep-over in the clinic or something like that!" Her eyes widened as her mind whisked her away into the idea.

The Wanderer sighed and hunched over, unwilling to look at her. He whispered, too quietly for her to hear. "Ruby…"

"Won't that be fun?"

"Ruby…"

"Oooohhh, and we can get ice cream and stuff, and watch movies, and snuggle up in blankets!"

"Ruby…"

"Oh, but, different blankets, heh. Totally won't, like, snuggle together or anything… nope!"

"Ruby…"

"But come on, let's go!" She started walking away from the garden. The Lone Wanderer did not rise. He sat there, and it took Ruby a few seconds to look back and realize that he wasn't following. A worried frown fell upon her face. "Are you okay Jaune? Do you need some help?" She skipped back to him, but he rose on his accord before she reached him. She smiled at that. "Nice, now let's get you to the nurse's, c'mon!"

Ruby continued to smile as he glanced at her. The smile persisted as he shuffled a bit on his feet. It continued even, when he picked up the large duffel bag . The smile only began to waver when he turned and took a single step away from her. The smile faltered yet more when he took another step, then another. It was only falling for concern, not that he was leaving her, but that he wasn't in his right state of mind, for surely he'd never be leaving if he was fully cognizant. She called out to him, told him he was going the wrong way. Her smile died upon hearing his reply.

"No, no I'm not."

"Jaune, the school is this way."

"I know."

"Then come this way, silly."

"No."

"Why?"

"I'm not going to the school."

"Jaune…"

"I'm sorry."

There was a silence. It stood between them, absolute and cold. It reigned for what felt like an eternity, before the Wanderer forced his mouth open once more.

"I have to go now," he said. "I don't belong here."

"W-what are you talking about?" Ruby asked. "Of course you belong here!" She ran up to him, got in front of him, blocked him. She looked up into his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I have to go," he said, not even looking at her. "I was never supposed to stay here. It was always my plan to leave." He shook his head. "This was always supposed to happen."

"Jaune, you're not making any sense!" There's was a note of hysteria in her voice. "Why? Why are you leaving, what's making you go?"

"I just have to," he said.

"That's not an answer!" Her voice was high, angry.

He responded in kind.

"Yes it is!"

Ruby wilted before him as he suddenly yelled.

"It's all the answer _I've_ ever gotten, so it's all _you'll_ get!" An ugly sneer sprung upon his face. "You know what happens to people I get close to? They leave! They leave, they always leave!" A fresh burst of adrenaline shot up into him, alongside anger. Much anger.

"I've never gotten a rest, because I've never even been given one! Never! I've never gotten a chance! Not one! Everything's taken away from me!" He stomped one foot on the ground, and the power of his aura made it crack. "Ever since I left home, everything's been hell! Well, I'm ahead of the curve! I'm not letting it tear me apart anymore, so yeah, I'm leaving!"

He breathed heavily, chest rising and falling quickly. Suddenly, the exhausted lethargy that had ruled him earlier was dispelled, if only for the moment. He looked down at Ruby, saw her timid face, the watery look in her eyes.

"Now get out of my way," he said in a flat tone. "I have to leave. Leave and never come back. That's just the way things work for me."

Ruby dropped her head low, looking down at the ground. He knew this would happen. Ruby was filled with passion and vigor, empathy and kindness, but she didn't have the strength necessary to stop him from leaving.

So that's what he would do. The Lone Wanderer sighed. It was only in that moment, as the immediate anger and adrenaline receded, that he realized how he felt even more awful: his stomach was heavy as iron; he felt like he was carrying a brahmin on his shoulders; his throat was so tight it hurt to breathe; his head felt like someone had put his skull into a vice.

He swallowed and tried to push it out of his mind. This was nothing. These people were nothing. Everything, as the wasteland had taught him time and time again, was nothing. Nothing was safe, nothing would last, everything would be lost. There's no defeating that.

Ruby wouldn't stop him here. She couldn't. She was a pure and kind, but there was no practical application for such traits. They were nice, but they could never suffice. Strength could never be applied while such characteristics were maintained. She'd lose them over time, as she failed others and others failed her, as the world brutalized her as it had him. Either that, or she'd never reach her full potential; she'd keep her humanity but never progress into true strength. That, as he had learned, was the true meaning of strength: the absence of warm feeling. He'd had to abandon such niceties when he became the Lone Wanderer, never to return.

So he would take a single step to side, and Ruby would be able to do nothing but stand there as he walked past.

He took a single step to the side.

Ruby took one too, blocking him.

His eyes widened. Honestly, he was at a loss of what to do for a moment. He hadn't expected this. Some complaint, yes, but that had been surpassed. This had to be short-lived. He took another step to the side, to get around him.

Once more, Ruby stepped in front of him.

He scowled. "Ruby, get out of my—"

"No!"

He started back, looking down as Ruby's head snapped up and she stared at him, into him, with an intensity that he'd not seen of her before. Those silver eyes, always kind or concerned or some variant thereof, were now…

Well, they weren't happy.

"I won't let you leave!" she shouted. "I won't let you! Not for a stupid reason like that!"

"Stupid!?" He glared down at her.

"Yeah, stupid!" She matched his glare with one of her own, just as unwavering. "You're gonna leave because us, because you're afraid we're going to leave you? That doesn't make any sense!"

He raised his voice. "I'm not afraid of anything!"

She raised hers to match. "It sure looks like you are!"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean!?"

"You're running away! You said you're sick of people leaving you, but you're leaving us! _You're_ the one doing this, nothing else!"

"I'm not leaving anybody!" he yelled back. "I'm not leaving anything, because there's nothing here for me! Nothing! I never let myself get close to any of you from the first place!" He crossed his arms and leaned back as he glared down at her. "I only came here to train and work on my weapons. The only reason I started to hang out with you, and the only reason I ever put up with you, was because you're a gun-nut, and I needed that!" He shook his head. "But now I've got everything I need, so I'm leaving!"

"We don't mean anything to you!? I don't mean anything!?"

"Exactly! I only ever tolerated you!"

Ruby snarled. Anger. Raw, unabated anger, such that he hadn't thought possible for her to possess. "I don't believe that!"

"Well it's the truth!"

"If you think it's the truth, then you're lying to yourself!" she spat. "What about all the talking and playing? What about making friends with Yang? What about helping me back when my friends abandoned me!?" She grit her teeth. "You didn't have to do any of that!"

"I—"

"And now _you're_ abandoningme!? You promised you wouldn't! I knew you wouldn't!"

"I'm not abandoning anything! I told you, there's nothing here to abandon!"

"And I told you that's a lie!"

"It's the truth!"

"It's not!"

He glared down into Ruby's eyes, but he could detect not a hint of weakness in them. Even though tears were welling up within them, they maintained a fierce determination that he couldn't simply stand down.

And within himself, he felt a growing weight, a growing fragility, a terrible sense of loathing and hate and unease. He felt increasingly like a pane of glass, covered in a webwork of fractures that were slowly crackling and creeping out.

He felt greater anger as well, the kind of fury that makes the whole universe seem to condense. The world was closing in, such that there was less and less besides himself, Ruby and the burning hatred he felt within.

"If you try to run, I'll chase you! With my semblance, I can catch up! I can stop you!"

"Why are you doing this!?" he asked. "Why are you bothering even trying to stop me!?"

"Because I care about you, you idiot!"

"You don't even—"

"Shut up! Shut up already! You can't just throw this away! What am I too you, just trash!?"

"You're nothing!"

"That's a lie!"

"It's not! Why are you trying to argue that is!?"

"Because it has to be! Because it _can't_ be true!"

Tears started rolling down her cheeks.

"Because I lov—"

Ruby's eyes widened and she snapped her mouth shut at the last moment, stopping herself from saying whatever she was about to say. The Lone Wanderer had hardly been paying attention to what was actually being said, and now took the silence as his opportunity. He growled and tried to walk around her, but Ruby snapped herself back into action quickly.

"No!" she got in front of him. "You can't!" She physically held her hands out to stop him from walking.

That was it.

The moment her skin touch his, the moment there was physical contact, his anger and his instinct combined to create a reaction immediate and regrettable.

He snarled and violently shoved her aside, throwing her several feet away. She landed hard on the ground and cried out as she rolled away.

Not a shred of a second later, he realized what he'd done. He stopped, frozen, all will to leave and every scrap of anger banished from his body. The world was at a standstill, with nothing moving or making a sound. Slowly, every so slowly, he looked down at his own hands, his own two hands, which had dared attack Ruby Rose. His gaze drifted towards her, lying on the ground. She turned and looked back at him from where she'd fallen, and he recognize something in those eyes. Those pretty silver eyes of hers. It was something he'd seen countless times in the eyes of many. Fear. Fear for him.

"No…"

In that moment, he shattered.

"Nonononononono! NO!" He was horrified. He looked first at his hands, then back Ruby, then back at his hands and so forth, as his own disgust and hatred grew, directed at no one other than himself! Tears welled up in his eyes, and his throat hitched.

"I'm so sorry!" he yelled. "I didn't mean to! I-I-I-I didn't, I—" sobs started to bubble up and interrupt his speech. "I-I'm so sorry!" he cried again. He tried to splutter out some more words, to no avail. His own tongue, his own lips, betrayed him now, in this moment of shock and terror, utterly paralyzed.

This was it. This was all he could do. He hurt people an things, and that was it. This was what the Lone Wanderer did. This, this was why he couldn't stay.

He ran. He threw aside his duffel bag and ran as fast as his weak, shaky legs could carry him. He didn't care anymore for the weapons, or the stimpaks or any of it. He only cared that he get as far away as he could, as fast as he could. He couldn't even see straight through the tears or the panic, He could only run, run and hope he—

Something hit from behind. It hit him, and it hit him dead on. Maybe, if he were in a better shape he could have recovered from that or at least not have been hit too hard, but as it was, he was immediately taken down to the ground, where he sprawled out. His assailant immediately grabbed him by the collar and hauled him back up to a sitting position.

He knew what to expect. Pain. A reign of blows. A string of expletives. All these things and more, he expected.

What he didn't expect, was a hug.

A hug, and rose petals, and the smell of strawberry. All of this fell upon him now. Ruby had stuck to her word and chased after him with her semblance once he ran, and now that she had him, this was what she did. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and squeezed tight. Now that she had him, she wouldn't be letting go.

He couldn't pretend anymore, even if he wanted to—which he never had, not really.

He reached around and wrenched her as close him as he possibly could, burying his face in her shoulder and her hood as she shuddered and sobbed uncontrollably.

That went on for… a while. It could have been minutes, of maybe hours, or maybe somewhere in between, but the details don't matter, only the what. And what happened? Well, Jaune Arc cried with Ruby Rose, letting out everything he'd been keeping in.

He let out the hate, the pain, the frustration, the lies, the anger, the fear. All of it. He expelled it all through his tears, exhausting his own emotions until there was nothing left but a tired boy in the arms of the person he cared for most in the world.

He settled down. His sobs became quieter, less violent, less all-consuming. Eventually, they stopped altogether, though only after a while. When he finally went silent, Ruby tentatively pulled away from him, but he only tugged her nearer, so she didn't try again. No, instead, she waited until he was ready, until he reluctantly pried himself off of her and wiped off his face of the spittle and tears and snot.

He sat down on the ground, just beside a pretty flowerbed, and he made no move to stand. Accordingly, Ruby made no move to do so either. She only shifted, that she may sit beside him, shoulder resting against his own.

They sat in quiet for a while, before Ruby turned and asked, "What happened, Jaune?"

He looked at her, saying nothing, but asking for explanation with his blank face.

"I mean, what happened to you? What happened… that made you so afraid?"

He turned away from her, stared at nothing for a while.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," she said. "Buy maybe it'd be good to talk about it?"

Jaune looked first at her, then his gaze scanned the garden, fell upon the cherry blossom, up the stars and the shattered moon, meandering everywhere as his worn mind brought all the pieces together for the story he'd never told.

"His name was Max," he began. "Maxwell Noble, but everyone just called him Max. He was born and raised in a nice place, safe. Well, at least it was a lot safer than just about anywhere else in the wasteland. He had a dad, and a best friend, and food and water.

"But one day, that all went away. His dad left, and everything went to hell, so he left his home and looked for his dad. It was brutal, the outside world. It treated him bad… but he kept his head held high. His dad had raised him well, teaching him to be a nice, good person. That didn't mean he couldn't fight, or that he didn't. It was what he'd been trained to do, after all.

"And as he hunted down his dad, he found some help. He came upon two people getting attacked by a group of super mut—a group of Grimm. He helped them, and then they swapped stories. The two were twins, a member of a vigilante gang. For saving them, they agreed to help him out, especially since they had the same goal in the end of taking down the bad guys.

"See, Max had initially just wanted to find his dad, but after seeing all the injustice, all the cruelty in the wasteland? He couldn't just stand by and let it all happen. So he joined the vigilantes, and they fought against injustice wherever they went, as they looked for his dad.

"Heh, he even found a dog too… he was the nicest, sweetest dog a person could ever ask for. He'd rip out something's throat, then be ready for cuddles right after. He joined them, and they all hunted after his dad together. The twins became the closest friends he'd ever known, a bond formed from battle. They stuck together, and eventually, they found his dad.

"He'd left to work on this big project to purify water. A lot of people got sick from all the dirty water they had to drink, so giving out clean water would save a ton of lives, and make it easier to grow crops. Of course, Max and his friends agreed to help. They were making the world a better place.

"Then, everything fell apart. These evil bastards called the Enclave attacked them, wanting to take the purifier for themselves, use it to have control over the people. Max fought hard, but he was beaten. They were too much for him. He wasn't strong enough. His dad was killed.

"They ran away, met with another group of people who were trying to bring peace to the wasteland, trying to restore order, the Brotherhood of Steel. They worked together to try and get the final pieces of the purifier they needed, so then they could retake it and complete his dad's mission.

"They ran into another guy, who helped them out. He wasn't human, but they didn't care. He'd helped them, and he was a good person, so they let him join. He became a close friend too, soon enough. And with him, they succeeded in getting the last pieces of he purifier.

"But they were attacked again by the Enclave… things went bad. It looked like they would lose, but no. Max persisted, and he and his friends… they won out. They fought with their allies and retook the purifier. They brought it online, and it worked. They started giving out the clean water, and they kept on fighting the Enclave

"The fight was hard, but it was going well for them. They were going to win. And as he went, his friends became everything to him. He'd lost his dad, but now he had them. He'd never been closer to anyone else, aside from them. They'd fought together, looked out for each other, depended on each other and trusted each other. He relied on them. They were everything to him.

"But then he wasn't strong enough. He was too weak to keep them safe… and in the final fight, he lost it all. None of them lived. Not John, or Jane, or Fawkes or even Dogmeat. They all died, because he was too weak to keep them safe.

"He nearly died himself… should have died. It was a one in a million chance of surviving, after what happened to him… and he honestly wished that he hadn't lived at all. He'd lost everything. He'd lost his family, his friends. He didn't have a purpose anymore.

"He just wanted to leave, leave everything. But he couldn't do that. He'd joined the vigilantes and the Brotherhood of Steel… there was no way to leave those groups, except for dying. But the leader of the Brotherhood… he was nice… too nice.

"First, he'd tried to convince Max to stay, even offered him a special sword as a reward for his service. But he refused it all…

"So Max just left. When he was strong enough, he snuck out of the hospital and left the camp. He didn't know what would happen back the Brotherhood, but he didn't care. He just wanted to be done with it.

"Max… he just wanted a home. So he went back to his original town, back to the vault. It was his last hope, his last chance at finding a home. He went back… but he was too different. He was too brutal now. He wasn't a good person anymore. He'd been ruined. So when he came back… he tried to help, and he did. He fixed their problem… but they weren't happy with it. He'd screwed up, and he was banished.

"And that was that. That was the end of him. He didn't have anywhere left to go. He was broken… he'd lost everything. Everything was gone. He didn't have a purpose anymore, or a goal.

"He wound up trying to run even further away, running away to a place called the Pitt. It was brutal there… but that was where he was reformed. It was brutal, but he came out of it a new person. All his anger and hate and sadness… reformed…

"So he returned to the wasteland, and his life…

"Eventually, he learned that the Brotherhood had just said he'd died. It probably wasn't good for morale, to know that their poster-boy had deserted. So they just made him a martyr instead, said he'd died. Even had a funeral with full honors, though it was closed-casket, of course.

"He wore a mask, to make sure no one could recognize him. He managed to meet the leader of the Brotherhood and get that sword he'd been promised. Then… then he went to the wasteland…

"He went from fight to fight, place to place. It was pathetic… he was pathetic. He kept throwing himself into danger… just because he wanted it. He wanted the distraction, so he didn't have to think about what had happened.

"And deep down… he wanted to die.

"He couldn't just kill himself… he was to much of a coward for that. So he just went into fights… made his life as dangerous as possible, filled with violence. It was hard… because he hoped that he would die soon.

"But one day, everything changed. He went to hunt down the last of the Enclave, get payback for his friends and family, but wound up somewhere far away, outside the wasteland. He got a new start in a new place. New opportunity… but he wanted to keep living that same stupid life where he was bound to die…

"When he came to this new place… they asked him for his name. He hadn't been called Max in months. No one knew who he really was… and he wanted it to stay that way. He wasn't Max anymore. He didn't want to be called that. So, on a whim, he just gave them a fake name.

"He'd grown up loving stories of heroes. His favorite had always been Joan of Arc. She was his favorite, because it had been his mom's favorite. He never knew her, but his dad told him how much she loved Joan of Arc, how big an inspiration she'd been. So Max always liked her too… it was probably a way to feel close to the mom he never had. But he also liked the nobility, the self-sacrifice, the heroism. He liked it so much, he read all the books about her and even dressed up as her on Halloween, though he changed the name to a boy's, so he wasn't dressing up as a girl, so he wouldn't get bullied for it… though he still did.

"And when he got to this new place and people asked him what his name was… he gave them a fake name. It was just a stupid whim… I'm not sure why he chose that, but he chose the name he'd made up when he was a kid.

"The though struck him from nowhere.

"It was just what had popped into his head. His name didn't matter after all, since hardly anyone would be saying it. He'd go back to being that nameless fighter he'd been before, go back to fighting, living dangerously, until he died.

"Really, he just wanted to die."

Jaune sighed and let his face all into his hands. Ruby looked at him, processing everything he'd just told her. She pressed closer to him, draped one arm across his shoulder and brought him close. He easily leaned over against her, resting against her warm body, still hiding his face. He couldn't bare to look, or to be looked at.

Ruby quietly started to speak.

"Jaune?"

He didn't respond.

"… Max?"

He shook his head, slowly. From behind his hands, he spoke softly, the words muffled by his fingers. "Don't call me that… that's not my name anymore… that's what people used to call me." He sighed. "What a stupid name… it sounds so… so _good_. It's like something out of a fairytail… what a stupid, good name. Too good for me."

"Don't say that, Max. You—"

"Don't call me that, please." He took his hands away from his face and looked at her. Now, even his good eye was red from all the crying, red and puffy. "That's not who I am… my name is Jaune now."

Ruby nodded. "Okay, okay… I can call you whatever you want." She brought one hand up and brushed away a stray hair that fallen in front of his forehead. "Just don't leave… please."

Jaune closed his eyes. "I… I'm afraid, Ruby. I don't want to lose everything again. It seems like that's all that ever happens to me." His voice was fatigued, hollow.

"Look at me," Ruby said. "Look me in the eyes."

He did so.

"I won't leave you," she said. "None of us will, I promise."

"You'll be taken away…

"I won't."

"You can't promise that."

"I can."

She stared at him with an intensity he had never seen her muster before. It was… powerful. She, she was powerful. He realized it now, what gave her that strength. All the 'warm' emotions he'd long detested. Happiness, kindness, purity, all the things that the wasteland had stripped from him, was what gave her strength. He'd figured all those things to be weakness… things that one had to shed in order to be strong and survive…

"I'm weak," he said. "I'm so pathetic… I threw everything away and ran…"

"Don't say that," she said. "You're _so_ strong Jaune, you've gone through so much. And I promise, that if you can find the strength to stay with us, with me, then we won't leave you."

He gazed into her eyes, and he found himself getting lost there. Her beautiful silver eyes, one of the first things about her he'd ever noticed. They were so unique in their own way, such a pretty shade, but now he saw in them, something more. He saw her confidence, her determination, her will, her care, her strength.

And as he lost himself in that shining silver, something changed. There was a shift, and in that exact moment, it was finalized. She'd always been there for him, as she would continue to be there for him. She'd always been so kind, so nice, so upstanding, so supportive, and she would continue to be. She'd given him her everything. A new feeling welled up within him, though it had been growing for a while, and really wasn't too new at all.

Beside him, just on the horizon, twilight was rising from places unseen, and the first rays of sunshine were peeking up with the coming of the sunrise.

"I… I just want to be happy again," he said.

Ruby smiled.

"We can do that."

* * *

 **Finally! I've been waiting to write this chapter for** _ **so**_ **long. At last, Jaune gives up on his wish to run away from Beacon and return to that shitty old life of his, which was pretty much suicidal. From here on out, he's going to try his best to be a functioning student and teammate, which will be a whole new challenge in and of itself.**

 **And yes, we finally see who this 'Maxwell Noble' really is. I wanted a way to express Jaune's guilt and regret, as well as his identity problems, such that I could still build it up all throughout the story. I wanted people to get a real sense for how much a change there was from who he used to be, to who he is now. Names play a pretty important role all through this fic, denoting Jaune's different personality at times, him essentially being a different person depending on the context.**

 **I think that a lot of things said and shown about Jaune's past should have some more meaning now. Look back especially at the last five paragraphs of chapter 3. Really, look back at all the flashback sequences. I never refer to Jaune as 'Jaune' during the flash backs to the time before Adams Air Force Base, since he wasn't Jaune back then, nor was he the Lone Wanderer yet: he was Max. I chose the name Maxwell Noble because, like Jaune said, it's such a 'good' name. It sounds like the main character from some typical hero story.**

 **There's also a touch of meta to this, as well. Many of the other stories in this category of fanfiction have OC main characters, who naturally have their own names. I'm kind of playing on this trope here, and the nature of a crossover. He was a different character in a different world back on Earth, with a different name, but now he's Jaune Arc in the world of RWBY. Rest assured, he's not actually an OC himself. He's got Jaune's name and looks, but also his personality, albeit with all the battering that a heavily traumatizing life would give to someone. He's still the same person at heart.**

 **There's also one other major 'meta' trope that I've included, but I can't talk about that yet, it'd ruin the surprise ;)**

 **I hope you all liked it; as always, reviews and/or questions are both welcomed and encouraged!**


	19. Chapter 19

"Max, come here. It's bed time."

"I don't wanna!"

The father summoned a single, firm glare, which quickly made the little boy skittishly rush for his bedroom. He only sighed and shook his head as he followed his son into a cramped, messy little room; the floor was strewn with toys and comic books. An unkempt pile of papers and books marking the day's homework sat on a desk in the corner, the bare minimum of which had been completed.

The boy hopped up into the bed and pulled the blankets close, wiggling until he became sufficiently comfortable. He looked expectantly at his father, who crossed the room and sat down on a chair beside the bed. There was a nightstand next to him, on which rested a well-worn book covered in stains and scratches, looking frail enough to fall apart.

"The usual story?" he asked.

The son nodded.

"Well alright then," the father said, picking up the book. He held it carefully, not wishing to damage its ancient pages any more than it already had been. He cautiously opened the cover, eyes flashing over the proudly written script of 'Catherine' marking the old owner. For just a moment, he felt a pang of sadness upon seeing the word, but then he looked over to his son, saw the excited shine in his little blue eyes, and he felt happiness instead. He smiled and turned a few pages, getting to the first lines of the book. He coughed to clear his throat, then started reading aloud, the first words of young Maxwell Noble's favorite story.

"Joan of Arc was a hero unlike any before her, unlike any that has come since—"

Jaune woke from his dream with a smile on his face. A smile that quickly disappeared once the warm memory faded and the present seeped in. Things were dark. That wasn't unexpected, considering it was night. Ruby had brought him back to the Beacon clinic early that morning, where he'd quickly been registered, treated, put in a bed and explained to a displeased Miss Goodwitch that he'd only pried himself out of bed and hurled himself through a second-story window because of a bad reaction the pain killers. A lie, but one she'd bought, or at least was unwilling to protest.

So he'd spent the rest of that day letting the nurses look over him, letting his team and Ruby's team visit him. He'd assured them that he was alright… and that they'd get the explanations they desired. Explanations about everything. What was the reason for his two-faced behavior? Why had he run away?

Well, just give me some time to pull myself together… I need to think things over.

It was true. He needed to mentally steel himself for telling them, and sort everything out in his own head. He'd been contemplating it all day, how he was going to say the things he needed to say.

Talking had never been his strong suit. Talking about emotions? Even less.

However, this was something he needed to do, so it would be done, and he would try his best. After thinking everything through, he'd closed his eyes and settled in for the night, looking forward to another long, exhausted rest. But this time, he'd be in a good, clean bed instead of a grimy dumpster.

Yet here he was, waking up from pleasant dreams in the middle of the night. He closed his eyes once more and fidgeted under the blankets, getting back into a nice, comfy position…

Before something poked his face.

Again.

And again.

Something was jostling him awake, and he blearily blinked a few times, before his eyes snapped open and instinct kicked in. He lashed out, trying to strike at whatever had gotten close, too close. He hit nothing but air.

Adrenaline poured into his system and he sat up in bed, raising his hands before him, ready to fight. He squinted and strained his vision to peer into the darkness, perceiving across the room two beady orange dots. Eyes.

Suddenly, the light switched on, and the room was filled with that kind of sterile, pale shine that hospital's love. It careened down onto the white floor and the white walls and the white sheets, forcing his eyes closed at its harshness.

He quickly pried them open again, ignoring the pain to take stock of what was happening. What he saw, quelled his panic.

"Blake, what are you doing?" He yawned. "I'm tired."

"We need to talk."

"I told all of you I'd—"

"No, I mean about what happened at the docks. We need to talk about it, _now_."

His eyes narrowed as he looked at her, sleepiness evaporating as he saw the unbridled distrust etched on her face. "What do you mean, what happened back at the docks?"

"Don't you remember? Don't you feel bad about it? At all?"

Jaune scrunched his brow. What the heck was she even talking about? He thought back to that night and the things he's done, but as he glossed over the evens, he couldn't really think of anything that stood out to him.

He shrugged. "I have no idea what you're talking about… did I do something I should regret?"

"You killed people."

"Umm… so?" It was just a moment later, that Jaune remember where he was, what world he was now living in and who he was talking too. The people here were too soft for the truth. "O-oh, I mean, yeah, I killed people. It was terrible, but I had to do it. I feel _really_ bad about it though. It's going to haunt my dreams and stuff… yeah." He smiled awkwardly to try and appease her. He examined her expression for any sign that his gambit had succeeded. Her scowl made it clear it had not.

"I rushed to try and help you… just in time to see you rip someone's head off." Blake stared at him. He stared back.

He dropped the fake smile and took on a scowl of his own.

"Yeah, I killed some people. So what? They were my enemies, and I got rid of them. You expect me to cry over it?"

"I reiterate: you _ripped_ someone's head off, someone who was unarmed, captured and posed no threat. That's not a fight, that's murder."

He shrugged. "Well, it's just par for the course where I come from. What was I going to do with the guy, try and knock him out? What if I messed up, gave him the chance to fight back, which in turn let Torchwick get a shot at me? Even if I managed to put him under, then he could recover and come back to attack again." The Lone Wanderer shook his head. "It was the best thing to do."

"That's not true."

"It is."

Blake shook her head. "How can you be so blasé about this? What you did was horrific!" She turned away, unable to bare the sight of him. "There was blood everywhere… you were covered in it. Drenched. The others were all terrified at first that it was yours… how are you fine with everything?"

She rounded back to face him, a sneer on her face.

"You've done this before, haven't you?"

"Killed people? Yeah."

"Have you executed people before? Like this? Murder?"

"Yup." He shrugged. "I don't see how this matters. This is just how things work. Fighting is fighting, and there are no rules."

"The Vytal Treaty says otherwise."

He shrugged again. "Do you think a bunch of terrorists and criminals care about the rules? Of course not, so why should I?" He shook his head and sighed. "I don't see any problem with what I did."

"Oh, but I do, and I'm certain the others would to."

Jaune gasped. "You told them?"

She turned away from him again and glared at him from the corner of her eye, before shaking her head. "No… no I've kept this to myself."

Jaune let loose a breath he hadn't even known he was holding. A strange, uncomfortable heat burned just under his skin. If Blake had told the others about that… if she'd told the authorities…

He thought back to Professor Oobleck's talk about war crimes. Oh boy, he'd be recovering in a prison's clinic right now, rather than the nurse's office of a school. Blake had done him something solid here… but why?

His eyes narrowed.

"What do you want?"

"Hm?"

"What do you want? You've got me in your debt now, so how are you planning on using it?"

Blake scoffed. "I hardly had extortion in mind when I chose not to tell the others. I never trusted you… you were always too aloof, too guarded. I recognized that; I've seen that in other people, bad people."

"And you think I'm a bad person?"

"That's why I'm here."

"Huh?"

"I want to see who you are, before I let the truth out. The only reason I didn't tell the others is because I know that Ruby would never forgive you if she learned about it, neither would anyone else."

Those words frightened him, for they were true.

These were good people, he was with. Ruby and the rest… if they knew he'd executed someone in cold blood… and in such a barbaric manner? If they knew about half the stuff he'd done back in the wasteland… it would be over. It would all be over. They'd never be able to accept it, to understand.

"Don't tell them! You have to understand," Jaune pleaded. "The place I grew up in… it's brutal beyond belief. I just… just did what I needed to do in order to survive, to get things done. This is just what I learned, what I was taught."

"You were taught to kill?"

"Kill or be killed, yeah. Back where I come from… it was terrible."

"And now that your here?" she asked. "Now what will you do?"

"And now that I'm here… I just want to settle down. I want to be happy again and leave all that behind me." He sneered, though it was directed nowhere but inwards. "Though I guess some things never change…"

Blake continued to stare at him, to look him in the eyes, and he forced himself to look back, to gaze into that sharp amber and try to convince her through sight alone that his words were true. She held the key to his acceptance. The eyes are the gateway to the soul, so if she looked there long enough, would she find the truth?

He was broken.

He was terrible.

But he wasn't evil.

Eventually, Blake broke the staring contest, closing her eyes and humming in thought. It took her a few more seconds to respond, during which Jaune could only hope that she'd been convinced.

"Yang once told me that you and I were pretty similar," she said. "I didn't want to believe it then, since I didn't like you, but I think I have to believe it now." She sighed and walked closer to the bed.

Jaune tensed his muscles as she approached, but slowly relaxed when she pulled out a stool and sat down on it, beside him.

"I wanted to start a new life, get away from everything," she said. "I wanted things to be new, so I could rebuild it all. I wanted to make myself new, so I came here. That's the same thing you've done?"

Jaune nodded, and realization finally dawned upon him. "You wanted to get away from the White Fang?"

Blake chuckled bitterly. "So you managed to figure that out?"

"Well, it's pretty obvious now. You were really hung up over the White Fang back at the docks, and you're a faunus, and you just started talking about getting away from bad things…"

Blake nodded. "Well, it's true. I abstained from talking about what you did because I knew they'd be crushed. I decided I'd do this, confront you about it, assess your danger for myself."

"Why?"

Blake looked away from him, stuck in thought for a few moments, before answering.

"I want a second chance at life, a reset, as if my mistakes never even happened. I guess I failed in doing that… and it seems that you have too." Her bow twitched slightly as her ears flicked underneath it, and Jaune couldn't help but think that it would require some serious agitation to manage that.

"Jaune… I don't want to take your chance away. I want to see some good in you, I do. Others do, like Yang and Ruby, and I trust them. They're better judges of character than I am… and they were willing to see some good in me, too." She drummed her fingers together, lost in thought for a little while. "I don't want to complicate my new life, either."

She rose off her stool and walked to the door.

"I'll leave you to get some more rest."

"Thank you Blake—"

She turned the lights off with a flick of a switch, then turned around. Her eyes shined in the darkness, and the Wanderer was briefly unnerved by the eery similarity they had to the sharp, vicious eyes of all the awful wasteland creatures that stalked about in the night.

"Don't thank me yet; I don't trust you, not at all. I ran away to get away from people like you. I'm not going to let anything, or anyone, ruin my shot at a new life. You helped me at the docks, and I'm grateful. You care for the others, and that makes me grateful as well.

"But I'll be watching you."

With that, Blake's shining eyes vanished from view as she turned away and left the room, leaving Jaune alone in the dark.

* * *

"And when I woke up… it all came crashing back to me. Everything just hit me… too hard. The only thing I could think of was running away." Jaune closed his eyes and let his head fall to the side, so he could nestle his cheek against the soft pillow, while hiding the tension on his face from the others. All of them, everyone from both JNPR and RWBY, where present. Everybody needed to know.

Hell, even Weiss, if only for the sake of transparency and context. They needed to know, despite the consequences. It was time to let things out, time to start over, for real. That was the problem, the thing he hadn't realized. He'd figured that by burying his past, he could leave it behind, forget about it. But by internalizing it, he'd only been stuffing everything under the surface, where it would rot and decay, become diseased and infect him, such that he'd never be healthy. Not until it was dug up and burned in the open, for all to see.

Now, done that, and things were out of his hands. It was up to them.

His actions had long been horrendously callous and selfish, reflecting on his personality, his despicable personality. He was a bad person. He knew that. In fact, he was certain of that. He was an awful human being, and the possibility off them truly forgiving him—

"If you weren't in a hospital bed, I'd pick you up and hug you so tight your bones would bend!" Nora proclaimed.

Her tone… she didn't sound angry or bitter at all. He opened his eyes to take a look, to face the final fallout of the truth.

He was met with varying styles of pity on everyone's face. Even Blake, after hearing the extent of his story, had become crestfallen. Weiss, for the first time in all the time he'd known her, looked at him now with an expression that denoted something other than disgust—empathy.

It was the same thing on everyone's face, a basic sense of human care and compassion.

It was something he didn't deserve, not in the slightest. People like him didn't deserve the care of others. He didn't deserve this, the chance he'd been giving. He didn't deserve their forgiveness. None of it, nothing at all! How could they—

"Hey," Ruby said, "it's gonna be okay." She rested on hand on his own, and summoned a small, sincere smile. Her words, and the kindly look in her eyes… it made his worries dissolve, if only for the moment.

He looked back at the others, and he saw in them, especially in Yang and his own team, a resolve, a sense of dedication. A dedication, for him. For him. Care. They were caring for him. These people, they cared for him. He mattered to them. Other people cared for him… they cared… cared…

He couldn't hold back the tears.

* * *

Roman Torchwick slammed the door shut behind him.

He stomped into the room, a cozy and plush office fit with expensive amenities. It wasn't the sort of place you'd expect to find in Vale's run down industrial district, but it was Roman Torchwick's personal office and hideout, from which he looked over his criminal empire. This was somewhat literal, considering one wall of the room was a large glass window that provided a view of the factory floor, where Torchwick's underlings and his White Fang 'partners' were busily packaging dust.

Cinder Fall reclined on a large couch that sat just in front of the window, looking down into the factory. When Roman entered, she spared him a single glance, raising her eyebrow at his flustered, angry face, as well as another fact.

"Where's the other one?" she asked.

The door to the office swung open so hard it slammed against the wall and rattled on its hinges. The now familiar sound of a voice muffled via gas mask resonated through the room. "The gall, closing a door in my face!" The raspy, deep voice may have been devoid of nuance, but it still conveyed anger with ease. "Your disrespect for your betters is ever persistent!"

"Oh, my betters?"

"A soldier is superior to a thief, yes."

"Hah, and people call _me_ arrogant. That's rich, buddy."

Roman turned to Cinder. "I present to you, the man who ruined our operation at the docks!" He thrust one hand out toward Art.

"Ruin? I recall that it was _you_ was unable to stand up to a few children, costing us the swift victory that was necessary." Art shook his head. "No, the only mistake I made was trusting an undisciplined street-rat to hold his own."

"An undisciplined street-rat? Funny, you weren't saying that when I was hooking you guys up with contacts, or when I was planning all these heists, or whenever else I was doing things right!"

"The only reason I was previously cordial is because it was required, but recent events have forced me to reconsider this requirement."

"Is that so? Reconsidering some direct orders from your leader, the Commander in Chief?"

"The only reason I continue to tolerate you is per the Commander's orders, which I still follow, as will I always. Were it not for him, I would eliminate you."

"You damn—"

Cinder loudly cleared her throat, and the two men looked at her.

"However much I enjoy watching you two squabble, I'm going to be cutting this off." Her eyes shined with a threatening energy. " _Now_."

The men turned silent. Art nodded and snapped into a ramrod straight stance, unmoving as an astute statue. Roman only sighed and grumbled his assent.

"Excellent," Cinder said. "There's too much at stake for us to allow petty infighting to complicate our operations. We need to be efficient and subtle in this, and neither of those are possible so long as you're at one another's throats."

"Gotcha."

"Yes ma'am. Understood."

Cinder smiled. "Good, good. The Vytal Festival will be coming upon us in just a few months' time, and we _have_ to be ready by then. There will be no second chance." She turned away from the two, instead looking down upon the various terrorists and gangsters working in the factory below.

"Roman, I need you to continue your operations and pick up the pace." Cinder held up her hand before the thief could protest the demand. "The White Fang will be sending in more manpower for you to work with. I understand you don't think highly of them, but you're a smart man. You'll figure something out."

Torchwick could only grunt a belligerent assent as he pulled out a fresh cigar, cut it, chewed on it and lit it. Beside him, Art was silent and attentive as ever, waiting for the orders he knew were to come.

"Art, your Commander has been doing excellent work out in Atlas. Aside from procuring that bullhorn, he's also gathered enough equipment for a whole new unit. If I recall correctly, your first squad is almost prepared, no?"

"You recall correctly. They will be graduating from our black site training camp within a few weeks, and after that, we'll begin training operations with the bullhorn. We're also canvassing for more recruits and compiling a list. We can begin training a second squad at the black site within a month, after the Commander returns with the new equipment."

"Excellent, and can I trust that the civilian side of your operation is seeing similar success?"

"Indeed, ma'am," Art replied. "Our political efforts are gaining more traction every day. After the next elections, we'll have all the clout we'll need."

Cinder smiled. "Perfect."

* * *

Headmaster Ozpin of Beacon Academy sat in his office, looking over some of the day's paperwork. Beside him, Glynda Goodwitch impatiently strutted back and forth in front of the large windows that overlooked the school, analyzing data on her scroll, all of it to do with the recent mess at the docks and the fallout it incurred.

On Ozpin's the desk, lay a scroll. Its screen lit up and it rang out a chiming tone, indicating that a call was being received.

Ozpin leaned over and looked down to check who it was, and he raised one eyebrow, surprised. He pressed a few buttons on the scroll, starting the call and setting it to speaker phone, so both himself and Glynda heard the person on the other end.

"Hey Oz, you wanted to talk?" The voice was raspy and lilted, unsurprisingly. But the Headmaster had known Qrow Branwen long enough to tell when he was truly drunk as opposed to lightly inebriated. He might have tried to sober himself up just for this call.

"That I did. I'm glad you've managed to contact me this soon. Usually, you wait a few days, not a few hours, before returning a call."

"Yeah well, I figured this was too important to screw around with."

"That it is."

"So spit it out, what's going on with the kid? What'd he do?" A tired sighed emanated from the other side of the scroll. "You'd better not be calling me over something stupid, Oz. What, did he get in a fight?"

"He did."

"Eh, hardly a problem. Lots of fights went down at Beacon back when I went there. Got in plenty myself. Just working out all those hormones."

"He did not get in a fight with other students," Glynda said. "He got in a fight with criminals and terrorists."

There was a moment of silence, before it was skewered by haughty laughter. "Hah! He's jumping the gun already," Qrow said, chuckling. "Man… they grow up so fast… wait, he didn't get hurt, did he? Is that why you're calling?"

"Mr. Arc sustained harsh injuries requiring plenty of attention and rest, but he is expected to make a full recovery in due time," Ozpin said. "Rest assured, your protégé is guaranteed a good recovery."

"Ah, good thing. The kid's got a lot ahead of him."

"That he does, though it's his past that I'm more concerned about."

"In what way?"

Ozpin leaned over in his seat and steepled his fingers together, a more contemplative position, as he thought over how he was going to word. Qrow was a good man, whom he trusted implicitly, but he was also a man that sometimes held his own agendas. And although he knew that those agendas would never be malicious, Ozpin didn't like being kept out of the loop.

"I've always trusted your judgement, Qrow, which is why neither myself nor Glynda questioned your recommendation or asked for more information than the incredibly bare details you and Mr. Arc provided. However, I would like to know more about him now, after the latest incident." Ozpin leaned back in his chair, and beside him, Glynda walked closer next to the desk, not wanting to miss a single word. "Both of us would just like more context."

Qrow grunted. "Fair enough. Though I honestly can't tell you much about him. He grew up in the Vacuo wastes in some weirdo tribe, or something like that. Left, came here. We met while protecting a village from bandits and then Grimm." Although Ozpin couldn't see him, he could well envision Qrow giving a lazy, dismissive shrug. "There's not much else to it. He'd doesn't have any family or friends, as far as I know. He wants to be huntsman and travel the world. He's a good kid."

"And why, exactly, did you bring him in? You've never shown any similar interest in any other student."

"Heh, that's because I've never seen anyone else like him. To be honest Oz… when I met him, fought with him, got to know him a bit… I saw more and more of myself."

Ozpin nodded. It was as he'd expected. Or, at least partially. He knew Qrow wasn't lying, but he couldn't dismiss the possibility that he wasn't being told everything.

"In what ways?" Glynda asked.

"Well, he came from a strange tribe, for one, raised outside of the kingdoms. And just the way he acts too, all curmudgeony. Reminded me a lot of myself at his age. I could see everything pent up in him, just like how I was back then. A lot of stress, anger." Qrow sighed. "I figured it'd be good to give the kid the same chance I got. I didn't have a purpose before going to beacon. I could tell he didn't have one either when we met, so I hope he's on the right track now.

"Besides, I could tell he'd make for a damn good huntsman. Hell, that's been pretty much proven, yeah? Taking down criminals and terrorists before he's even legally allowed to drink, though I know that won't stop him from washing down a hard day's work." Qrow barked out some laughter. "God, he had some strong stuff on him when we first me, just a swig nearly laid me out. I hope that the next time we meet, we meet in a bar."

"Yes, well, empathy and drinking habits aside, I'm still a little curious. How could you tell he was going to be a good huntsman, Qrow? You said you each protected a village together, is that how?"

"Well yeah. There were some bandits attacking the place, and the kid went all out against them. He didn't even have aura yet, but he didn't care. He took them and did pretty damn good, though I had to bail him out.

"And even after that, when the Grimm came, he kept fighting. Still, without any aura, he managed to take down a few beowolves.

"But I could tell he really had the right stuff, when he saved this little girl and nearly got his insides ripped out in the process. Was about ready to give his life for her, and that's not a trait you can just pass up on. I hope he's found a bit more worth for himself by now, though…"

"So you recruited him for his martial ability and quality of character, is that the case?"

"Pretty much."

Glynda stepped into the conversation. "He's performing extremely well in combat class, but that wasn't the case towards the beginning. He needed some time to adjust his style as necessary. I would say that his abilities, though admirable, where not exactly special when I first saw him."

"Yes, it's taken Mr. Arc a little while to grow into his own," Ozpin said. "Surely, you've seen many young huntsman and huntresses over the years who were his age, yet fought better. There's no questioning his skill as of now, but I'm not sure it would be so easy to tell earlier on."

"Well, I could tell," Qrow said, a belligerent edge to his voice. "Yeah, he wasn't the best, but he fought well, and it seemed like he only really needed to get used to his aura before he got in shape to be something special."

"Yes, but there are many special students here at Beacon and in Vale as a whole, many of whom you've seen rising at Signal. You've never felt compelled to personally support any of them."

"Well, yeah, but like I said, I've never seen anyone like him. Steve—I mean, Jaune—isn't like anyone else. He's like me, and I got all sappy, alright?"

"He's a killer, Qrow."

There was no answer. Silence hung heavy in the office, with not so much as the slightest noise penetrating the dense quiet.

"There were several bodies left at the docks, where'd he fought just a few days ago, that there gruesomely maimed. I stayed in contact with VPD, and they said that that sort of damage could only have been caused by something akin to a chainsaw." Ozpin shook his head. "I hardly think it's difficult to put two and two together."

"You said the two of you fought against bandits," Glynda said. "Did he kill them too?"

The lack of an answer from Qrow was all the answer they needed.

Ozpin sighed. "Qrow, this is information I wish you'd shared with us."

"Would you have let him in if you'd known the sort of things he was capable of?"

"Hmph, we at least would have been more cautious with him," Glynda said. "He's displayed concerning and antisocial behavior ever since arriving here, which I assumed was something much more benign than downright psychopathy."

"The kid's not crazy like that," Qrow said. There was a sharper edge to his voice, a protective tone. "He got disemboweled saving a little kid from some Grimm, does that sound like a psychopath to you?"

"No, no it does not," Ozpin said. "And we've seen Mr. Arc adjust gradually to life here, even make some friends. However, that doesn't change the fact that he may very well be hazardously volatile. For him to be capable of such things at such a young age…?"

"I personally spoke to him earlier once he returned to Beacon. There was no discernable guilt or ill feelings other than his own physical condition," Glynda said. "So either he's excellent at hiding it, or he's become acclimatized. When you first fought with him, was that his first time?"

"No, no it wasn't."

Glynda sighed. "Qrow, you realize the danger inherent in allowing him to come to this school? And with no special treatment? He should have been sent to the school therapists immediately, if he was to be accepted at all." She shook her head. "A young mind shouldn't be tainted by things like this."

"Well, that didn't stop it from happening to the kid, now did it?" Qrow nearly growled. "Listen, you're treating him like a monster just because he's been through some rough stuff—"

"Qrow," Ozpin said, "we were shown the bodies of the White Fang he killed. Gruesome, is truly the only way to describe it. It takes a certain kind of person to do things like that and remain unaffected, and I'm sure if I want that kind of person in my school."

"Well, whether or not you want him, you need him!"

"Is that so?"

"It is."

"And why would that be?"

There was silence from Qrow, and Ozpin mulled over whether or not that was just his old friend thinking of how to word his response, or if he was truly bereft of one at all. It turned out to be the former.

"Listen, I didn't _just_ take him in because he reminded me of myself—"

"That much is obvious," Glynda said. "It's become clear that you've been withholding information from us."

"Yeah, Glynda, it's become clear," Qrow said with a sigh. "Now, just don't interrupt me again, and I'll spill it all, alright?"

Silence was all the affirmation Qrow was given, so after a few seconds with no reply, he took the cue and continued.

"I ran into the kid just a few weeks after Amber was attacked. I was hunting through the Mistral countryside, taking in whatever leads I could find. Then I run into him.

"I see him fight like that, and then we have a conversation. He tells me about himself, and I see more and more how much we need people like him right about now.

"See, Amber wasn't attacked by Grimm, but by people. And when I met Ste—Jaune, when I met Jaune, I saw somebody that was used to fighting people. He fought people, and he killed people, and he put up with all the heinous shit that people can do.

"Because that's where the real danger is, the real evil. Aren't I right? Salem has control over the Grimm, but her biggest tools are the humans and faunus she's got under her thumb. Smart, brutal, capable of worse things than any Grimm.

"I saw the kid do some things, and I heard him talk about some things, that nobody else his age in all of Beacon would know a thing about. Hell, I bet that no kid his age in any of the academies have gone through what he's gone through. Some of the stuff he told me about… and I could tell by the look in his eyes, that he wasn't lying when he talked about it. He won't be phased by even the worst that people can do.

"And it was people, who attacked Amber, and who attacked that village.

"That's the trick. Right now, we're going to need huntsman and huntresses who can fight against people just as well as they can fight against Grimm, if not better. Most of the kids in school can't even conceive the sort of brutality that's going to be going down sometime soon, and we all know it's going to be sooner rather than later.

"If you want an example, look at my niece, Ruby.

"She'd _never_ kill someone. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. That's great and all, but there are some instances were something like that isn't what you need. You need the opposite, someone who can do bad things to bad people. Someone who can see bad things happen but keep on trucking all the same.

"When push comes to shove, he isn't going to be effected by even the worst of the worst. Others will be paralyzed, but he'll soldier on. That's what we need. Hell, case proved by what you were telling me just before.

"Terrorists and criminals, the ones he fought. Those are the real bad guys, beyond just the Grimm. And even behind the Grimm, is Salem. She may not be human, but she's just as smart as one. So yeah, I think we need someone like Jaune. The kid's even harder than I am, and I've seen some shit.

"Again, compare that to someone like Ruby. She'd never do the things that he's willing to do. Hell, if she'd seen of him what I saw, she'd hate his guts, and Ruby's not used to hating anything. That's just how different it is."

Qrow stopped talking, and a few more seconds dragged on as Ozpin and Glynda waited for him to continue. When he didn't, they instead considered his words and exchanged a look with one another. Eventually, it was Glynda who spoke.

"Qrow… you're not wrong." She sighed. "I just wish you'd given us the full story."

"I was afraid you wouldn't get things from my point of view, and I didn't want to risk the kid getting turned away."

"You really do care for him, don't you?" Ozpin asked. "I wasn't aware that the two of you had much of a chance to bond."

"We didn't, but he made an impression on me anyway. I wasn't lying when I said that he reminded me of myself. I acted a lot like him at his age. And going to Beacon… it was the best thing that ever happened to me. If I hadn't gone, then I'd still be rotting away with the tribe. And besides that…"

There was a tentative pause, before Qrow continued.

"Beside that… I felt scared for him."

"Really?"

"Yeah… I saw the kid almost die. I stood over him while he was bleeding out after damn near getting eviscerated. I looked him in the eye while his was dying. You can tell a lot from a person in their last moments alive. And you know what I saw?

"It wasn't fear, oh no. The look on his face… I didn't ask him about this. I was too afraid to do that. But… he had this… he… he just looked so… tired. Everything about him… seemed so spent. And I could tell it wasn't just the blood loss or whatever, no, it was deeper than that. It was a look in his eyes that told me he didn't even care, that he was done.

"And I picked up on it in our talk afterwards, too. He just… didn't have that will, you know? He seemed hollow. It felt like he was hiding something terrible. I've never seen someone so young be so broken. It… it was just damn sad.

"I thought about what it'd be like if that ever happened to Yang or Ruby, so yeah, it hit me hard. I give a shit about him. He's a good kid, and he deserves more than everything he's been through. I hoped that what worked for me would work for him, too.

"So I sent him here."

"Qrow, that's surprisingly paternal of you," Glynda said.

"Hey, I just lost Amber, alright? She was like family to me, and I couldn't stop thinking about losing my nieces after that, too. I've always had a soft spot for kids."

"So I suppose it's not surprising that you got attached to young Mr. Arc," Ozpin concluded. "No one will fault you for empathy, Qrow." The Headmaster reached over and took a drink from his mug of coffee. When he was finished, he set it back down on the table with a clink. "I'll let Mr. Arc stay here at Beacon, for now. We haven't been keeping a good watch on him, given everything we've had to distract us, but that will change from here on out. I may even mandate he attend therapy."

"That's fine, so long as he gets to stay. I just want the best for him," Qrow said.

"As do I."

"He's doing well," Glynda said. "He's become good friends with his team, and he's even befriended your nieces, as well."

"Really? Heh, guess he can't get enough of the Branwen genes."

"I'd say he was closer to Rose."

"No kidding? A hell of a match that is, though Ruby will make friends with anything, given enough time." Qrow chuckled, and Ozpin had no trouble envisioning that particular smile that the man got whenever he was talking about his nieces. "Well, I need to get to sleep now, start the day bright and early tomorrow."

Glynda snorted. "How early, noon?"

"One, actually, but that's the beside the point. Take care of Steve for me. I want to share a drink with him sometime soon."

"I don't believe he's of legal age—"

"Eh, that's just formality. Anyway, I'll contact you both again whenever I get something new." And with that, Qrow ended the call, leaving Glynda and Ozpin alone once more in the office.

She adjusted her glasses and sighed. "He's always given in to his heart and his gut, when it comes to decision making."

"Stoicism isn't exactly necessary for everyone, Glynda. Though I agree he could have put some more thought into all of this…"

"Hmph, an understatement, if I've ever heard one." She pinched the bridge of her nose and shut her eyes, willing the coming headache out of existence. "I just wish he'd been more open about it. It's not like we're totally unwilling to accept students with questionable backgrounds, Miss Belladonna being an example."

"Yes, well, the past is in the past, and for now we must make do with what's already happened. Mr. Arc will be kept under watch, but so long as he continues his progress, I see no reason for him to be expelled."

"Just so long as he keeps on a good course," Glynda said. "He certainly reminds me of a young Qrow, but he is also comparable to a young Raven. I fear that he may yet go in either direction."

"A fear that isn't unjustified."

Glynda nodded. She collapsed her scroll and put it in her pocket, then walked away from Ozpin and toward the elevator. "If our business for the night is done, then I'd like to take my leave… I think I'll give Mr. Arc another visit."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. I don't plan on confronting him about any of this… I merely want to take the time to analyze him a bit more, given the recent revelations." She pressed a button on the wall and called the elevator. "I'd also like to make sure that he's coming along well, physically."

"Worried, are you?"

"Mr. Arc is a dangerous person, undoubtedly, but he is still a child, and he is still my student. I share Qrow's wishes, that the best comes for him. It's always been obvious that he's a troubled young man, and although I don't know what happened to him to make this the case, I can't imagine it was anything but terrible." The elevator dinged and the door opened. "I'll be cautious with him, yes, but I want him to succeed just as I do all of my students." She stepped into the elevator, and the doors closed behind her, leaving Ozpin behind.

He swiveled in his chair and looked out the window, to the large, shattered moon that hung in the night sky. It was bright in a dull sort of way, emitting a sad light from the countless many fragments that hovered together, the only evidence of a catastrophe so old that even he didn't know the reason behind it.

"As do I Glynda," he said to himself. "As do I."

* * *

"And you're feeling well?" Miss Goodwitch asked.

"As well as I can, after everything that happened," Jaune said.

She nodded, but otherwise, made no move to speak. She looked him up and down, and he fidgeted somewhat uncomfortably under her gaze. He figured that she was just making sure on her own that he was alright, but there was an edge to the way she was looking, almost judgmental, that he didn't like.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No, nothing. I'm just making sure that you're adjusting well."

"Yeah, well, I'm pretty alright." He sighed and shifted under the blankets, pull them to his chin. "There's… actually something that I need to talk to you about."

"Well, go ahead." She looked around. "No one else is here, and I have the time."

"Yeah… it's actually something that Ruby and I were talking about earlier. Well, Ruby and Yang. The two of them think it might be good for me if…" He trailed off, suddenly captivated by the blank wall beside him.

"If what?"

He gripped the blankets hard, scrunching them up in his fingers. "Well, apparently everyone heard about the idea, and everyone thinks that it might be good for me if…" He trailed off again. His hands shook from how hard he grabbed the blankets.

"Mr. Arc, if this is a bad time, then we can speak later—"

"No." He shook his head. "No, no I need to get this out."

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

"I…"

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

"I… I want to see a therapist."

* * *

 **Oh boy, a therapist? I wonder how this is going to pan out. People have been asking since the first few chapters, when Jaune's mental struggles were first made evident, whether or not he'd ever be getting the help he needs. Just wait and see.**

 **Also, glad to see there was such a positive reception to the last chapter. I'd been waiting the entire story to write that, and I'm happy to see that I didn't screw it up, considering it was such an important moment. There were things that could have been done better, of course. Like, I'd always planned on having Jaune talk about how Joan of Arc was his mom's favorite hero and how he was obsessed with her when he was young, but I forgot to include that before the reveal. My bad, would've put in a bit more buildup and made things make more sense. I sorta had to force it in. Still, glad to see it didn't fall flat.**

 **Also, Art's 'Leader' is the same person as his 'Commander' or 'Commander-in-Chief' referred to in this chapter. I'm just changing the name because I like this better than just calling him Leader. From here on out, Hail of the Chief.**

 **Come back next time, where he finally spends some quality time with the team. As ever, any and all reviews and/or questions are appreciated and encouraged.**


	20. Chapter 20

**Hey all, sorry for some of the long update times. I've suffered not from writer's block per say, so much as writer's exhaustion. I can usually figure out what to write once I force myself to do it, it's just forcing myself to do it that can be hard. Sometimes, it's extremely tiring to write, especially after something as climactic as chapter 18. Plus, I got heavily involved in another project lately, which took up a lot of my capabilities, and I'm in college so there's that. And I'm perpetually working on** _ **another**_ **personal project besides everything else. So, yeah, I've got a lot on my plate right now, especially a lot of creative things, which imposes a specific kind of drain. It was a lot easier to update this at the same time every week back when this was the only thing I was working on. But for real, please don't complain about update times, as that does nothing but annoy me; I'm doing my best here, and I assure you that this story will be completed.**

 **Anyway, let's get to it.**

* * *

He stood in his room. Or, at least it was _supposed_ to be his room.

It was the one he'd been assigned to at the beginning of the year, that he'd slept in for just two nights, that he hadn't dared approached in almost two months. It was a place filled with lost chances, a myriad of possibilities, thrown away. He set his bags down, everything he'd used to have in his cave, packed up for the move back.

"It's been a while," he said.

"It has," Pyrrha said behind him as she closed the door. They stood alone in the room. "I'll help you get things sorted, then maybe show you some of my things. I'll let Nora and Ren show you their own spaces later, when they arrive."

"Yeah… it would be better to do that all at once, wouldn't it?"

"We all understand why you wanted to do this with just me," she said. "Like you said: you're tired."

He nodded slowly. "I'm glad none of you have gotten offended… it's just, yeah, I'm too tired. Two's company and three's a crowd; I can handle company right now, but crowds are too much. After our talk… I don't know how to explain it," he said. "I'm just… tired."

"You don't have to explain," she said. "I think we all understand. It's not a problem." Although he wasn't looking at her, he could tell that her reserved smile graced her face from the light tone in her voice. "And look, you're here, aren't you? You're doing what you can, despite things."

"Yeah, yeah I'm doing what I can… because I want this to work, I really do. I want to be a part of a team again, with you all." He shook his head and looked down at the empty, dust-covered bed. "I just… telling you all about my past. I dunno, it was so draining. I've been exhausted ever since… and it's harder for me to deal with people, harder than usual. I just… I just don't really know."

"You don't have to. Really, it's fine. There's no need to keep trying to explain yourself."

He heard Pyrrha shuffle around behind him, then had to force down his nerves and the instinct that told him not to let her out of his sight. It was just the way he'd been taught things. Other people… they were bad. That was the false truth he'd accepted for so long, which he now had to pry out of himself, bit by bit, until he was clean of it.

He grit his teeth and stopped himself from turning around to look at her, instead bending over to begin unpacking his things. Strange, how for him, turning his back to someone was in a way more intimate than facing them directly.

He got to work. His bed was pressed against the wall in the corner of the room, with fabrics ruffled and bunched together, not having been made in months. First, he dragged it back away from the wall, closer to the others. Then he beat down on the blankets to try and clean them, but dust kicked up and made him cough.

"Here," Pyrrha said, "I'll get that for you, just focus on unpacking your things." She smiled and stepped by him, then bent over the bed and started straightening out the blankets.

Jaune smiled. It'd take a while to settle in, but at least he'd have help.

In fact... he was already thinking of a few ideas to get things going…

* * *

The bell rang.

Ruby Rose could not have been happier.

"It's done! We're done!" She shouted and jumped out of her chair. Weiss futilely tried to reach over and grab her errant leader before she made a fool of herself, but Ruby activated her semblance and sped out of the classroom.

She hopped from foot to foot, loving the feeling of freedom that coursed through her veins as the bell continued to ring and more and more students flooded outside of class and spilled out into the hallway, all of them happy to finally be done. Well, most of them. Some students had looks of dread on their faces after taking on finals and only now realizing that they may not have been so prepared as they needed to have been. Thankfully, Ruby had her own personal slave-driver to make sure she kept on her toes.

"Ugh, I can't believe you sometimes!" Weiss pouted as she stormed out of the room and approached her. "Really, would it kill you to exercise some tact? A break to lessons isn't something to celebrate so much as something to tolerate—ack!" Weiss suddenly found herself at a loss for words as Ruby sucked her into a hug.

"I did great, I know it! And thanks for all the help studying!"

"Urk, get off me!"

"Nope!"

Weiss stopped wriggling and sighed, knowing by now that she couldn't tear herself free, no matter how much she tried. Ruby was like a leech, that way: you wouldn't be able to get her off without using fire, so you might as well just wait for her to take all she needed and disengage on her own.

Which was just what happened after, oh, another minute. Weiss gasped as her lungs were finally able to expand fully once more. Ruby's lithe limbs were able to exert a surprisingly large amount of strength whenever it came to giving hugs. Yet even then, she was given no respite. Yang and Blake had both exited the classroom now as well, and with her whole team now present, there was nothing left to stop Ruby from initiating her first plan for the break.

"Come on guys, let's go meet up with JNPR!"

She grabbed Weiss by the wrist and dragged her down the hall, calling upon her semblance enough to keep the girl stumbling at a fast pace, though her feet didn't move half so fast as her mouth, which shouted and berated Ruby all the way.

Yang and Blake looked at each other, shrugged and followed at a brisk jog.

"Ack! You buffoon, unhand me!" Weiss swatted at her partner as she stumbled along, desperately trying to just stay on her feet. God, if only Ruby would slow down, or better yet, stop altogether.

She would get her wish, though the universe has a habit of giving you things with strings attached.

"Oof!"

"Agh!"

"Ack!"

"…"

The pair of red and white ran headlong around a corner and crashed into another pair of students, sending them all sprawling. Weiss in particular got the worst, doing a full cartwheel before smashing face-first into the wall, groggily crumpling to the ground as her unprepared aura tried desperately to keep anything from being too broken.

"OhmygoodnessImsosorry!" Ruby blurted as she sprang up to her feet, no worse for wear. With a semblance like hers, one got used to taking the occasional crash and tumble. Thankfully, the one's she'd bowled over weren't inexperienced in that regard either.

"Hah! Happy for the break, right?" Nora smiled wide as she stood up, also hauling up Ren by his collar, which made him choke for a moment as his throat was subjected to Nora's strength. "No probs Rubes, I like tackling people when I'm excited too!"

Yang and Blake caught up, quickly going to assist the dazed Weiss as she got back up off the floor. Ruby, through a combination of Nora's unshakable glee and Ren's imperturbable apathy, felt her panic slip away, and her own smile returned.

"Oh man, I'm so glad school's out! We're gonna go back to Patch, and see dad, and see Zwei, and train, and I'm going to get some new comics, and it'll be great!" Ruby's smile widened just at the thought of It. "Yeah, Yang and I are gonna be off on our own adventure back home, while Blake's gonna stay at the school, and Weiss is going to stay at a spa resort in town!"

"A vacation I both deserve and require!" the heiress said, attaching a growl and a glare to her speech which had Ruby cringing and turning away. Whenever Weiss was in a bad mood, it was best to let her cool off for a moment… heh, _cool_ off…

She snickered.

"What are you laughing at!?"

"Nothing Weiss, nothing at all," she lied. Changing the topic of conversation quickly, she turned back to her two newest friends. Nora was a lot of fun, and Ren was pretty cool in his own chill sort of way. She was glad to have met them finally through Jaune… and she was glad that Jaune was finally getting the chance to be with them too. "So what are you guys going to do over break? That's why I was in such a hurry earlier: I wanna hear all of JNPR's plans!"

Nora chuckled and patted Ren's head much like someone would pet their dog. "Oh, Ren and I are going to stay here at school. We don't have anywhere else to go after all, same with Jaune. And Pyrrha's staying too, since Mistral's too far away." Nora giggled and did a ballerina spin in the middle of the hallways, having some of the other kids sending curious glances their way; but most people in Beacon had learned that it was best to leave the strange girl with the large hammer to own devices, so moved on without a word.

"Aaaaaaannndd," she said, "Jaune's got some plans for all of us!"

"Really? That sounds fun! And where is Jaune, by the way?"

"He's out in Vale preparing for the break," Ren said. "After he finished his finals, he went straight out make reservations and buy tickets."

"Well that sounds pretty sweet, where are you guys going?" Yang asked.

"Oh man, all over the place! It's gonna be great! And better yet, he's moved in with us now, so when we come back from our outings in Vale, we'll be able to hang out in our room like a proper team!"

"Yeah… has he really been living in a cave this whole time?" Blake asked.

Ren nodded and sighed. "Yes. He… hasn't been very forthcoming thus far, but he's making an effort now, and that's what matters. It's taking a little while, though, since some things are still a bit much for him."

"What do you mean?" Ruby asked.

"Jaune's not much of a people person, if you haven't noticed," Nora replied. "He doesn't like crowds or talking too much. It makes him tired, and even nervous. Like, really anxious when he's around too many people or he's been too social."

"Yes," Ren said, "to say that Jaune is introverted would be somewhat of an understatement. A full week has gone by since he told us all about his past, but he's still fatigued from it. Opening up like that in front of so many people exhausted him, and we don't want to overload him too much right now."

"So he's just spending time with one or two of us," Nora said, "Just until he gets back on his feet. He says he'll be good in a few days."

"Hmm, makes sense," Ruby said. Of course, Jaune had told her that he didn't like being in crowds or being too social, but he'd always been willing to talk to her. Then again, that was when she was his only friend, the only person that he talked to. Then he started to get friendlier with Yang as well, but that was only a little bit at a time. Come to think of it, she'd never seen him be social in a group. Trying to do that, which may normally already be a real effort for him, while still reeling from all the talking he'd done about his past, had to be pretty hard.

She hadn't gotten many chances to talk to him in the last week. Between finals, preparing for break and Jaune's own focus on catching up with his team and taking time for himself, they'd barely spared a word. And with her going away over break, it would be a whole week more until they managed to speak again.

Something within her felt heavy.

She hopped up and down a few times and forced a smile on her face. People always just interpreted that as her being her usual hyper self, and most of time, they were right. But sometimes, she was trying to stir up some good feelings whenever bad ones were coming her way. Like now.

She settled down and said, "So what are the plans that you've got with Jaune?"

Nora enthusiastically clapped her hands together. "Oh man, it's going to be a ton of fun! We're all going to go out and do stuff in Vale, one on one! And then we're all going to go out together like a team!" Nora did another twirl. "Like a real team, finally!"

Nora smiled and reveled in her own words, which had conveyed next to nothing to RWBY. They turned to Ren, who sighed and explained:

"Jaune wants to get to know us better, so he's asked us all to pick out a place in Vale we'd like to go to. Then, he'll take one of us out to the place we want to go, as a way to spend time together and try to become more familiar, while still not overwhelming himself right off the bat."

"Hm, sounds… empathetic," Blake said. "Not a bad idea."

"I can hardly wait!" Nora said. "I've picked out the perfectest place! It'll be awesome!" She raised her hands up in front of her, and everyone saw that her fingers were practically vibrating with energy. "Oh man, I need really to need to let off some steam! Me and Ren were just going to the sparring room to practice. I _really_ want to smash some stuff!"

Yang grinned and looped one arm around Nora's shoulders. "I like the way you think, sister. Mind if I tag along? After going through finals, I've got more than a little bit of stress I wanna work off."

Nora's eyes widened and seemed to sparkle. "Of course! Destruction is always more fun with a buddy!" She zipped out of Yang's grip and grabbed Ren by the sleeve, dragging him down the hall as she stomped towards the training room. "Come on everybody, let's get to bashing!"

"I suppose that exercise is a good way to relieve stress," Weiss said, sighing as she followed.

Blake merely shrugged and followed as well, knowing full well that Yang would probably strong-arm her into coming along anyway.

Only Ruby remained in place. Her face gave away no expression, but she was tightly gripping her skirt; so tight, that her knuckles were becoming white.

Jaune was going out with all of them… individually… to places in Vale… to get to know them better… didn't that sound like…?

And she wouldn't see him for a while… though they could still talk via scroll, of course? But what if he was too busy with his team, like he had been the last week? No, he'd only been distant lately because he was just finally getting back with his team and dealing with all that, not to mention finals…

But still, she'd been practically his only friend before, and even when he'd hung out with Yang, she'd been there too. Now he had Nora, Pyrrha and Ren, and they were all really cool, and they were actually his age, and they… they… what if they… what if…

What if she was being replaced?

"Ruby, are you okay?"

"Huh?" She shook her head and took a deep breath. "Yeah, yeah I'm okay Weiss, just sorta spaced out for a moment. Heheh, I think my brain's still a little fried from that test, you know?"

Weiss looked back over her shoulder and waved her hand, signaling the others to continue on their way to the gym. They did so quickly, descending into chatter and disappearing around a corner as Weiss turned back to her partner.

"You know, you aren't a very good liar."

"Hey, it's alright, really. Just, just nothing, y'know? Just spacing out after tests..."

"Is it about Jaune?"

Ruby's jaw shut, tight.

Weiss sighed and put a hand on her shoulder. "He'll be fine, you know. He's an utter dullards, but he's strong, and he's got his team now." She smiled. "And he has you. I know how you are, Ruby. You care for other people, perhaps too much."

"Too much?"

"Being anxious over others will just eat away at you. Take a moment to think of yourself."

But I am thinking about myself…

"You don't have to worry about Jaune, not anymore. At least, not so much."

I don't think you understand…

"Thanks for understanding, Weiss." Ruby forced on her usual smile. "I'll try to remember that. Go catch up with everybody, I need to use the bathroom, kay? I'll be right behind you."

"Okay," Weiss patted her shoulder. The girl probably knew Ruby wasn't in the best state, but Weiss was a firm believer in giving people their space when they needed it, so she strode away without another word.

Ruby chewed at her lip and hopped away, ducking into a bathroom and quickly cloistering herself up in a stall. She proceeded to stand there, hidden from view, thinking things over.

She was being anxious. That was what the counselor at Signal had said: she just got anxious when it came to people. She couldn't trust people to stick by her, she couldn't be certain that they actually liked her, that they wouldn't just leave the moment they could. She was paranoid when it came to relationships. The counselor had said all that and more, and all that and more was true. True, but not easy to deal with.

She'd always been so afraid that Jaune would leave her, in one way or another, like so many other people in her life.

 _I know you'll never do that to me._

She'd told him that… but she hadn't known, not at all. She'd clung to his promises, and she'd hoped, and when it seemed that all her fears had been true, that he was going to leave… well, she couldn't let go. She couldn't let it all be true.

But now he had his team… what if it would be true, just not in the way she'd thought? What if he wouldn't be physically leaving, but just socially? What if he found that he liked his teammates more than he liked her? After all, there was hardly anything special about her to be liked.

She was an immature nerd. Who would want that?

She closed her eyes and pressed her hands against them, massaging her eyes with her palms before the tears that threatened to break way managed to get out. What was wrong with her? Why was she freaking out so much? She… she just didn't want…

An idea struck her. It wasn't the best. It was a bad one. It was a stupid one that probably wouldn't help. But there was no way she could do it in person. Text would have to do. She really shouldn't do it.

She couldn't stop herself.

She pulled her scroll out of her pocket and cobbled together a message, then read it through. She bit her lip, deleted it and rewrote it. Then she reread that. Then she deleted that, too. A few more attempts, and she finally had something that might be okay.

 _R: Hey Jaune, I ran into Nora and Ren, and they told me about your plans for the break, going out into Vale just with each other and doing stuff. Well, I was wondering if you'd like to do that with me once break is over, maybe on the first weekend back? Just the two of us._

She gulped and stared down at her scroll. She read the message again, then a second time, just to make sure there were no spelling errors and that it sounded right. Normally she didn't care if her texts were riddled with grammatical mistakes or were a little incoherent, but now wasn't the time to come off as stupid. She started gnawing at her lips as she read the message over again and again, thinking about… nothing. She was stuck in one of those odd moments where her mind was terribly busy mulling over absolutely nothing at all, as if emptiness itself had become suffocating.

Eventually, she closed her eyes and hit the 'send' button.

A few seconds passed before she dared open her eyes again and look down. The scroll told her that the message had been sent. Whether or not he'd read it yet, she didn't know. And she continued to not know for a while. Her breath caught when she saw those tell-tale dots appear over his profile, marking that he was preparing a response. Ruby's heart started beating faster and faster every passing second she saw those dots blink. A minute passed. Then another. And another. What was taking him so long? How hard could it be to put together a simple text?

What could possibly make someone spend so much time putting together just one text message?

What could it possibly be?

Eventually, he replied:

 _J: I'd love that! Just think of a place you want to go to_

Suddenly, she felt lighter. A great weight had been pressing down on her, but now it was lifted. Her lips curled up too, and for a moment, she even went up on her tip-toes, feeling higher in a strange way, feeling the need to go up and up and up.

She wasted not a second in telling him that she'd think it over, and that she couldn't wait.

 _J: I'm looking forward to it!_

She smiled some more.

* * *

"I can tell why you'd like a place like this," Jaune said as he and Ren took their seats at a table. The waitress passed them each a menu and left them to their devices, telling them she'd be back soon to take their orders.

Ren scanned his menu and answered: "Yes, I've always wanted to visit a proper teahouse. But with Nora around?"

The two chuckled.

Jaune leaned back into the comfortable cushion and took the moment to look around him. The noon sun was high in the sky, but the two of them didn't have to worry about that right now, safely in the shade under their own small, personal gazebo. They sat in the middle of a large rock garden, with intricate wave patterns raked into a sea of pebbles. Thin stone paths snaked across the garden, leading out to several small gazebos like the one they currently occupied. Several others also serviced a few patrons, but everyone took care to speak in low voices, so as not to disturb the calm atmosphere. A high stone wall around the area blocked out any view of the city, leaving those within feeling as if they were truly resting in a place far away from Vale. The only building one could see was the large pagoda which served as the teahouse proper, though he'd managed to get private seats in the garden.

"Yeah, I never thought I'd be able to find somewhere like this, either," Jaune said. "I love peace and quiet, and I like pretty things too. This place nails all the marks." Pretty. Calm. Those really were the only ways he could describe the Vale teahouse. Modeled after the Mistralian variety, this was one of the best in town.

He took in a breath, enjoying just how crisp and clean the air here seemed to be. Maybe they did something to keep it smelling fresh? Or maybe it was just the atmosphere of the place, effecting his mind so much that it impacted his perceptions. Whatever it was, he didn't know, and he didn't care. He liked it, and that was all that mattered.

Jaune perused his own menu, scowling when he realized that he had no idea what any of it meant. Now that he thought of it, he'd never really had tea like this before. They hadn't had anything like that in the vault, and the only tea available in the wasteland was made from mutfruit leaves. It was disgusting stuff, but it was also supposed to be good for the immune system, so plenty of people drank it anyway.

"If you're unsure of what to get, then you can't go wrong with a simple green tea."

"Thanks," Jaune said, then flipped through the menu to see where the green tea was. He soon found it, also finding that there was no singular green tea, rather an entire section with ten different varieties. "Uhhh…"

"How about you just get the classic jade?"

"Yeah, I'll go with that."

The waitress returned, dressed in an exotic robe that Jaune recognized as something coming from Asia. Apparently, the Remnant equivalent for that was Mistral. Though Pyrrha said she was from Mistral too, and she wasn't Asian at all. Guess it had to be a pretty multicultural place, then. It did seem pretty big on the map.

Ren ordered a kind of black tea for himself, and some cakes for the both of them. The waitress nodded and left, telling them to wait no more than a few minutes.

"Sooooo…" Jaune said as she left. "What you been up to?"

"Relaxing now after finals. Well, relaxing as much as one can, with Nora around."

The two chuckled again, before falling into silence.

A silence which stretched on for a little while, before Ren cleared his throat and spoke up:

"I suppose I should get to telling you more about yourself. That's the point of this after all, and you already told us everything about you."

Alright, he felt a little bad about that. The truth was, he hadn't told them everything. Hell, he hadn't even told Ruby everything. He'd told her everything besides the fact that he'd reverted into a brutal killer after his team's death, devolving into a sort of monster. And he'd told the rest less. No one but Ruby knew that Jaune Arc wasn't his original name. They knew his family had died, as had his friends, as had his will to give a damn about life. It was just… too much to give.

Still, he hardly expected Ren to spill anything too personal—

"My parents died when I was young."

Oh.

"I lived in a nice, peaceful town outside of Mistral, and—"

He was cut off by the waitress returning, with a platter of cakes as well as a complete tea set. She set it down on the table between them, the water already boiling. She opened two different jars and scooped out little spoonfuls of dry tea from either one into what looked like sieves. She then placed these into either of two cups and poured out steaming water from the kettle. She expertly finessed the tea in the water, perfectly steeping it until completion. She then bowed and left them with only their drinks and cakes.

"Huh, that was pretty cool."

"Indeed," Ren said, "back in my hometown, we would go to a place much like this every weekend. Some of my best memories from childhood are of myself and my family or friends, enjoying each other's company as we enjoy our tea."

"Hmm." He could see that being pretty nice. He glanced at his teammate, who was now looking down into his own cup. If he'd gone to a place like this a lot, then his family must have been pretty well off, since this had been fairly pricey. Jaune had agreed to pay for every one of their outings, refusing his team's insistence on at least splitting the bill. He still had money from his job, and the management had even give him a nice little bonus for, you know, having to fight terrorists. He'd officially quit from there now, but the money was still in the bank, and this was as good a thing to spend it on as any. Probably better.

"I'm sorry to hear about your family, Ren. I understand."

"I know you do, and that's nice. Not many know how brutal it can be to lose someone so close, especially at so young an age, and in so brutal a way. See, our village had been attacked by Grimm, and…" The cup in his hands was shaking.

Ren took a deep breath, and it may have been a trick of the light, but Jaune thought for a moment that he saw a shade a strange shade of grey wash over him, if only for a second. But the boy released his breath a moment later, and it was gone.

"Forgive me, it is still a brutal topic to discuss."

"I know, you don't have to say anything. The details are hard."

"That they are." Ren shook his head. "But at least I was fortunate enough to have Nora with me. I met her during the fall of my town, and we've been together ever since. I've never been subjected to the sort of loneliness that you have."

"Be grateful for that."

"Oh, I am. There's nothing else in this world that I appreciate more than her."

Jaune smiled and brought his cup of tea up before him. "That's good then. Always appreciate the people close to you." He blew into his cup and then took a sip.

A sip, which he instantly regretted, as the wickedly hot liquid singed his tongue and lip, and it was only through virtue of his aura protecting him that the pain, already harsh, wasn't too bad. He nearly dropped the cup, but managed to set it back down on the table, wincing as a few drops spilled out onto his hand.

Across from him, Ren chuckled. "You can't rush good tea, Jaune."

"Ugh, I guess not." He eyed his steaming cup warily, then crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in the cushions of his chair. It really was comfortable, and this really was a nice place. He couldn't help but allow his anger to drift away in a mere moment, and again, he looked aside and gazed across the rock garden, serene and peaceful.

"So you like the calm," Ren said.

"You could definitely say that. What tipped you off?"

"You've mentioned how much you like the garden, and how much you like nature. And even now, the way you settle into this place. Someone like Nora, Yang or Ruby would never like this place; just being here would probably put them on edge." Ren swept his hand out and across the scene before them, his hand tracing the same wave patterns in the air as were raked into the ground. "Some people need action, not necessarily the fighting kind, not something filled with adrenaline, but at least something to keep them moving, something to do. It doesn't seem like you're that kind of person."

"No, not at all. I love peace." Jaune sighed, deeply. "I just never get it."

"Hm, sorry to hear that. Though I could tell when I first met you, that you were a man on edge, a man without balance."

"Yeah…"

"That's part of the reason why I appreciate Nora so much: she give me balance."

"What!?" That had Jaune shifting to the edge of his seat. "How the hell does she give you balance? Are you saying that Nora helps you be calm?"

"Exactly."

"How?"

"Like I said, as long as I've been with her, I've never needed to be afraid of being alone. I don't want to know what it would be like, if I'd had to go through the things I went through with no one to rely on." Ren sighed and shifted in his chair, turning to fully face the garden beside him. "She gives me security, by watching my back. She keeps me well, by caring for me. Certainly, she can be difficult, but having someone so close, someone I can so easily depend on, let's me rest easily at the end of the day."

"Hm."

"And what kind of rest would I have on my own? After the things I saw, I had a very unquiet mind indeed. Being alone would only have exacerbated that."

"You care about her very much, don't you?"

"I do," Ren said with a nod. He shifted his body back to face Jaune fully, cupping his hands around his cup of tea. "Much of my initial animosity for you was because of how you treated her."

Jaune averted his eyes down, into his lap.

"But the past is in the past. I fear that I may well have found myself on the same path as you, had I not met Nora when I did. Distracting an unquiet mind with an unquiet life, is a recipe for disaster. Best to rely on people you can trust." He shook his head and sighed. "Others can have their fun being rambunctious, but you and I, I suspect we'll both retire to places like this, in time."

Jaune smiled. "Yeah, yeah it'd be somewhere like here."

"Yes, it certainly would. The tea should be cool enough now to drink. Better to do so, before it gets cold."

Jaune nodded and brought the cup back up to his lips. He took a tentative sip, but now found it was no longer scalding, just hot. It was nice, and he especially savored the warm feeling it spread through his chest as he drank it and the liquid swam down through his throat.

"Ah, this is good stuff."

"It certainly is," Ren said after taking a drink of his own tea.

"So, what have you and Nora been doing ever since the fall of your village?"

As Ren began talking about the two's escapades, Jaune continued to drink his tea.

It tasted good.

* * *

"Oh boy, this is gonna be good!" Nora said, hopping from foot to foot, waiting for Jaune to make his way past the security checkpoint at the park's entrance. Nora had warned him they wouldn't let him take weapons into the park, so he was left empty-handed, much to his chagrin.

No weapons, and there were people everywhere. This was honestly like something out of a nightmare.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

"Come on, let's go to the arcade first!" Nora yelled as she pointed to a direction further in the park, a huge grin on her face. Jaune looked to where she was gesturing, but he couldn't tell out anything specific, nothing which yelled 'arcade'. How one could ever hope to find their way around anywhere in this amusement park, he had no idea.

He looked around him, took in the sights. Large roller coasters curved up into the air, above a landscape filled with bright colors, garish decoration and cheap, greasy foods. And noise. A lot of noise.

He kept his hands in front of him, a natural position that would afford him the best ability to protect himself should anything happen. His eyes darted this way and that, dragged back and forth by everything going on, all the people around him. He could tell why Nora liked it, and he could tell already that he hated it. It was the polar opposite to the teahouse he'd been at yesterday with Ren, but it was what Nora had wanted to go to, so he hadn't hesitated to agree. Now, he was beginning to think that was a mistake.

His skin crawled as he made his way through the crowd, a crowd filled with a ceaseless cacophony and numberless people making their way to whatever game or ride they wanted to visit next. He looked over his shoulder often, offput by the knowledge that so many people were behind him, all behind him. He noticed his breathing get faster.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

Just calm down—

"Jaune, are you okay?" Nora looked back at him, brow creased in concern.

Was he being that obvious?

Hmph, who am I kidding, of course it's obvious. Not like I was ever the best at hiding things.

"Y-yeah, I just, um, uh…" He looked around desperately, then saw the perfect place: a somewhat secluded corner with a bench, off the main path. It lay beside a couple vending machines, but other than that, it'd probably provide a decent enough break. "Can we sit down for a moment?"

Nora nodded and the pair walked away. When Jaune sat down and felt the bench's hard wood against his back, he let out a long sigh. The uncomfortable prickly sensation that had been crawling under his skin slowly trickled away as he became secure in the knowledge that there was nothing behind him, that he wouldn't be caught unaware.

"Jaune, is everything alright?"

"Huh? Uh, yeah, yeah sorry. I'm fine, just… don't like crowds."

Nora nodded and looked back out at the park, which was stuffed with people. Plenty of families, everyone from the elderly to little kids, and happy couples. It was a sight to see: just a lot of harmless-looking people having fun. What was there to fear?

But she didn't ask him that. Even if she didn't _understand_ , she could try and be _understanding_.

"Was it mistake, us coming here?" she asked.

"What? No."

"It's just that, if you're really this uncomfortable, then I shouldn't have forced you to come. I'm sorry... I should have thought more about what you'd want..."

"Hey, you didn't force me to do anything. I want to be here, I do. It's just that…"

"You're on edge?"

He nodded. "Yeah, yeah I'm on edge, to say the least. I've never been used to crowds like this. We never had them where I grew up, a pretty small place, you know? Well, I guess you don't know, but…" He took another deep breath and shook off some of the remaining jitters. He also steeled himself for the talk ahead. Opening up about issues was hardly the easiest thing to do, but it was something he was determined to do. "I just have a hard time feeling safe in crowds. I can't feel secure, with everybody around me. I get really anxious." He jerked a thumb and pointed to the wall behind him. "It helps when I can have something solid right behind me, since a lot of my anxiety comes from not being able to see everyone. I'm just… sort of afraid, I guess."

"So that's why you sit at the back of every class?"

He nodded.

"Is that why you never want to spend time in the cafeteria, either?"

He nodded again.

"You weren't kidding about your people problems."

"No, no I wasn't," he said with a sigh. "It's harder to see in Beacon, where there are less people, and I've gotten used to the place. But here…?"

He looked back out to the crowd, saw the families and couples and the happy faces. But none of that got his attention. He could only focus on the things he couldn't see, worry about whatever there could be that he was missing, something hidden in the crowd, like a mirelurk hidden under the water, just waiting.

"I'm sorry for ruining this," he said. "I should be able to act normal, but—ack!"

Nora had reached one arm around his neck and yanked him close to her, dragging him into a strange cross between a hug and headlock. She proceeded to dig her knuckles into her head, much the way that Butch would do to him all those years ago, but hers was accompanied by playful laughter and a fist that really wasn't grinding in as hard as it could.

"Don't be silly Jaune, you're doing great. Just being willing to come out here for me is really nice!" She released him, allowing him to both draw in some fresh breath and bring up a hand to gingerly rub the spot of his skull she'd assaulted. "So don't put yourself down, okay? I don't like to see that; people should be nice to themselves."

"Heh, I nice philosophy to live by."

"Yup!" She giggled and proudly wore that huge smile of hers. "It try to tell it to everybody, and I try to take my own advice too, but that can be hard."

"Hm? It can?"

"Well yeah, duh!" Nora shook her head an admonished him with a tsk, tsk, tsk. "I try to be free-spirited and whimsical." Nora dramatically threw her hands up into the air, as if reaching out to give a cloud a hug. "And not worry about things and have fun and try to make other people have fun too, because seeing other people have fun is fun, and makes things more fun!"

She sighed and brought her hands down, then turned to him, smile now smaller, more subdued. It was somewhat uncharacteristic of her, but appeared no less genuine. That was something he liked about Nora: she always seemed genuine, at every moment, speaking her minding and her feelings and acting in accordance to them. One never had to worry if she was hiding something, for she never did. Maybe she wasn't even capable of it.

"I try to bring as much happiness as I can Jaune, even when it's hard to do that. But I can't do it a hundred percent of the time… nobody can!" She shook her head and flicked him on the nose. "So don't be mopey about moping, because that's just like, doubling the mopiness! Doesn't do anybody any good. Just try to your best… which you are!" She jumped up from the bench and gestured at him with a dramatic wave of her hands. "Look at you!" she yelled at the top of her lungs, "you are Jaune Arc, and you are trying! And that is awesome! Stupendous! Magicalistic!"

He flustered and felt some heat rush to his face, which was likely turning a little red. He chafed under the inquisitive gazes of a few strangers, but despite the unwanted attention, a smile easily sprung onto his face.

"Thanks Nora," he said as the girl hopped back onto the seat beside him. "You're took kind."

"Yeah, people have told me that."

"What?"

She sighed. "People have told me in the past that I'm too much…" She looked at him, expression devoid of the earlier silliness. "If I'm ever too much for you, just say sp 'kay? I'm not stupid: I know I'm a lot to handle."

"Yeah, I can see that," Jaune said with a chuckle. "Thanks, I'll tell you whenever I need some space. But don't worry, you're pretty great overall."

Nora smiled wide. "Thanks!" The great grin receded shortly, however, and it was back to the surprisingly serious face of before. "But really, people have always told me about how I'm 'too much' or stuff like that. I can't really help it, though. I don't get cues, like social cues, and stuff. I just don't see them, and a lot of people don't really like that."

"Well, I'm fine with it. I don't get social cues either, so I get where you're coming from."

"Yeah, but people have always been turned off by me. All my life before I came to Beacon, only Ren has ever managed to put up with me. Sometimes I feel bad for that… I know he'd like things to be quieter… but I just can't do that."

She frowned.

Jaune punched her shoulder.

"Hey!"

"You needed that," he said. "Get your head out of the gutter Nora, you're fantastic! I've only ever met one other person as dedicated to being positive as you are, and it's a really special thing." Moira had been branded as strange and socially unaware as well, but she eventually came to be a highlight of all his visits to Megaton.

Before it was wiped off the map.

His vision was ripped back into the past, into the realm of memory. He saw it, a massive irradiated crater filled with rubble. The smoke had long since died out, leaving nothing but a hot wreck, too poisonous to approach. The town he'd come to call home. The place he was looking forward to visiting during all those long nights in the hospital, recovering after battle at the Air Force Base. Destroyed, when an Enclave raid attacked, looted the place, rigged the bomb and left. It was gone now, along with everyone in it.

All gone, all destroyed, while he was moping away in a hospital bed, recovering from surgery after the greatest failure of his life—

"Jaune? Are you okay?" Nora asked. She was also gently shaking him.

"Huh? What?"

"You totally just spaced out; are you alright?"

He shook his head to try and shake off some of the memories.

Breath deep. Hold. Release.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine. Just got caught up in some old memories."

Bishop took away everything—

He shook his head again before the thoughts could drag him back under. "But yeah, I'm alright. No need to be worried."

"I'm pretty sure there's a decent need," Nora said. "But if you don't want to talk about it, we don't have to." She shrugged and smiled. "But if we can't talk, we can still do this!"

Suddenly, he was dragged into a bear hug, tight enough to compress his chest and drive out all the air from his lungs. He gasped like a fish out of water, face turning an ominous shade of purple, before Nora decided to have mercy and release him.

Jaune panted and wheezed for a few seconds, before his desperate gasps for breath turned into laughter, which Nora was more then willing to join in on. And they did that for a little while, just sit together and laugh, though neither of them were really sure what they were laughing at. Neither cared; they were just having fun.

Eventually, Jaune settled down again and said, "Thanks Nora, you're something special."

"You bet I am!"

"I do bet."

"How much?"

"Everything."

"Awww, you're the sweetest!"

He chuckled again, shaking his head at a ridiculous conversation, which sported a kind of lightheartedness which had eluded him for oh so long. "I know you and Ren grew up on the road, but I'm sure you must have made friends everywhere you went."

Nora's smile dropped a bit. It was still there, but seemed more propped up than natural. "Well, actually… Ren was the only one who ever got along with people."

"Really?"

"Yeah, he's cool… I'm just annoying. I don't know how many times I've been called that. And ever since I came to Beacon, I know that a lot of people don't like me because I'm such a pain."

"That's not true—"

"It is, and I know it, and I think you know it too." Nora shook her head. "No use in hiding from it. I was really afraid that I wouldn't make any friends when I came to Beacon, that I'd just drag Ren down and make things bad for the rest of our team, but Pyrrha's really and nice and you're pretty good too… well, now you are." She shrugged. "I've always known I'm not normal, and that a lot of people don't like that… but that doesn't matter!" She resolutely shook her head, scowling at an imaginary person who dared to judge her for acting the way she wanted to.

"No, no it does not," Jaune said. He draped one arm across her shoulders and pulled her into a half-hug, a comradely show of support. "You really are something special, you know? I'm serious about that."

"I know!"

"That I'm serious, or that you're special?"

"Yes!"

He laughed, that easy smile coming back to his face. This was definitely a different sort of company compared to Ren, but now he understood what his teammate had meant when he said that Nora was good for providing peace.

"Now come on, let's go see that arcade."

"Yippee!"

* * *

"It's beautiful," he said.

"I couldn't agree more," she said.

Jaune stood and stared for a while, unable to take his eyes away from the painting. He had no idea why it had enraptured him as completely as it had, but it did; a simple painting of a bull's skull with some flowers. He didn't know why, but he just couldn't look away.

Earlier, something similar had happened, when he spent a solid five minutes staring at a single painting, which depicted a few strangers in a diner at night. There was just something about these… something that was calming, yet interesting, something almost provocative in a peaceful sort of way.

After the chaos of Nora's adventure at the theme park (which they were now banned from for life, a story neither of them were keen on recounting once they'd returned) he had been excited to go to the Art Institute of Vale with Pyrrha.

His excitement had proved utterly worthwhile. In fact, he couldn't have prepared himself for something like this, anything like this. It was just so…

"It's all so pretty," he said. "I love pretty things. We didn't have a lot of them back in the wasteland." He shook his head. No, nothing like this, never anything like this. In the wasteland, people didn't have the time to make paintings or sculptures. There were never any pretty things around, everyone too concerned with the simple act of living, made so hard by the brutal environment around them.

"That's sad to hear," Pyrrha said. "In Mistral, art is highly respected, and almost everyone tries their hand at it at one point or another."

That finally made him tear his eyes away from the painting, turning to face his partner. "Really? What about you? Have you ever done any art?"

"When I was younger, yes, I took some lessons. But I was never very good, and I eventually gave up on it in favor of athletics, which is an artform unto itself."

"It definitely can be. Especially the way you move while you fight; no one else in Beacon can compare."

Pyrrha blushed in an adorable way. She was cute like that, in her bashfulness; it was almost like having an older, more reserved Ruby.

"Well, I'm sure that there are plenty of older students who would be able to give me a run for my money, really. I'm not too special."

"Now you're just denying fact—"

"Really, don't make a big deal of it."

Something in the tone of her voice tipped him off. It wasn't hard even for a clutz like himself to notice the serious edge in her eye, either.

"Sorry, did I say something bad?"

"It's just… I don't like the added attention. People always put me up on a pedestal… and that's not something I've ever enjoyed." Pyrrha turned away and strode further down the gallery, a great white hall flanked with large, impressive paintings. He followed behind, letting her have her silence for a little while, until she eventually stopped in front of one painting in particular.

It depicted a lone figure, distant and hard to perceive, basking in the sunlight on top of a mountain. Beneath them, on the mountainside, lay the corpses of innumerable Grimm, and he thought he saw a few human corpses as well. But above it all, the lone figure stood triumphant.

"I saw this on the way walking in," she said. "I recognized it right away. It's a famous Mistral piece: _The Lone Hero."_ Pyrrha stared at the painting for a while, and following her gaze, Jaune realized she was looking only at the lone figure. "This is one of the reasons why I wanted to come here, to see this painting in particular. It's always been my favorite." She tilted her head to look at it from a new angle, though her focus remained squarely on the single figure on the mountain top. "I even had a print of it pinned on the wall of my room back in Mistral. I always… I don't know. I've always been fascinated by that hero, all by themselves at the top."

"I guess it's not hard to imagine why."

She shook her head, slowly. "No, no it's not. I used to be enamored with them, the lone hero, standing proud and strong. I wanted to _be_ them. I used this painting as an inspiration, and now I identify with it fully." She crossed her arms and furrowed her brow, staring at the painting as aggressively as one could. "I liked the attention for a long time. But then the loneliness really set in. No one wants to get close to you, when you're larger than life. No one feels they can. And if they do, it's only so they can use you."

Jaune hummed and stared at the hero on the mountaintop.

For a moment, the Lone Wandered recounted all the times he'd walk through villages and be looked up at in awe, fear, surprise or some combination of thereof. He had been crushingly alone all the time, with a reputation that immediately precluded any chance at being close with anyone. Then again, that had been on purpose, in his case. He'd wanted to be alone, so he'd cultivated a character that made everyone avoid him.

But Pyrrha hadn't wanted that, had she?

She was spirited and dedicated young woman, and her devotion to the craft of combat was absolute. Her only sin was trying her best and giving her all. He'd worked hard to become the Lone Wanderer, and she'd worked hard to become the Invincible Girl. They'd both achieved the same effects in the end, hadn't they?

"My fame isolates me. I honestly hate being the _Invincible Girl_."

They had.

What else could he do, but feel sorry for her? He'd been miserable under the persona of the Lone Wanderer, and the Invincible Girl must have felt much the same.

"That's a big part of why I came out here to Beacon and Vale. I wanted a sort of escape. I could never hope to have anything close to a normal life if I went to school in Mistral, where everyone was bound to recognize me." Pyrrha reached out one hand towards the painting, tentatively, as if she wanted to touch it, to press her fingertips against the lone hero and experience them for just a moment. But she pulled her hand away and brought it against her chest instead. "That's why I chased after you to make you my partner."

"What? You did?"

A small, embarrassed smile graced her lips. "Yes, yes I did. I overheard you talking to Weiss about not caring for people's positions, about judging people on your own. I thought that you'd make a good partner, a good friend."

His jaw clenched, as did his hands fists. "I'm sorry," he said. "I failed you. All of you."

"You—"

"Acted horrible. I have no excuse."

"You told us all what happened—"

"An explanation, not an excuse. No excuses."

He closed his eyes, felt an anger boiling up through his blood, anger and disgust, at none other than himself. He'd never liked the things he'd done to his team, not even while he was doing them, but now? Now that they'd risked their lives for him and shown a willingness to forgive? He couldn't hate himself more.

"Hey now, be calm," Pyrrha said, laying a hand on his shoulder. "What was done, was done; focus on what you can do, like this. Like what you're doing right now." She swept her hand out around her, drawing his attention out to the entire hall. "Like spending time to be closer with us all." She smiled at him. "Put in the effort from here on out, and we'll all be more than willing to forgive you."

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

After emptying his lungs, he took another few breaths, and that action, along with Pyrrha's comforting words, led to his anger slowly seeping away. He nodded a few times, to what, he didn't know, but the action helped him.

"You're right, you're right… and I'm glad to be doing this." He smiled and clapped Pyrrha's hand, still resting on his shoulder. "It's nice to be with all of you. Talking with everyone the last few days… I've really enjoyed it."

"As have I. It really feels like we're a team now. You, Ren and Nora, you all do treat me like just another person. It's nice."

"Well, I wasn't lying way back when I said I judge people for myself."

To be fair, I meant that I'm too paranoid to take others' word, so need to scope out danger on my own. But it's true in a social context as well; people can get all sorts of titles for all sorts of reasons, but not a single one of them necessarily reflects their character. I've learned to judge people on their actions.

"And you Pyrrha, I've judged to be a pretty awesome person."

She blushed and mumbled something, taking a few steps back. He chuckled, hearing something out being too kind, a criticism he hadn't received in a long time.

"But really, I understand a lot of what you've said," he said. "Back home, I was put up on a pedestal too."

Her head snapped back to look at him, and her eyes lit up. "Really? For what?"

"Well, I was—" A mercenary. A killer. A monster who's dedication to depravity was so excellent that he was known far and wide for the horrendous things he was able to do. A person who none of you would be able to accept. "—a freelance hunter, among other things."

"Other things?"

"I actually fought in a tournament once like you, and I won it. Became pretty well known for that. I was well known in that area for my skill as a steel runner."

"Really? What's all that?"

"Well, I won the monthly arena tournament in the Pitt, which is a tournament just like any you've fought in, except that—"

It was to do the death.

"Except what?

"Erm, nothing. It was pretty much the same. And steel running was going out into the nearby ruins to collect scrap steel for the refineries. It was really dangerous, since there were so many monsters crawling around and a ton of radiation, too."

"Oh my, what's radiation?"

Shit. Good going there, loose-lips.

"Um, a particular sort of poison that's all over the place in my homeland. It makes it pretty hard to live."

"Goodness, your homeland sounds like a rough place. I've never heard you say anything about it that was good."

"Well, some of the people were good, though most were pretty terrible…" He trailed off, not wanting to drag up his past, especially not when they had so much available to them in the present. Instead he brought one arm around Pyrrha's shoulders and pulled her close into a side-hug. She gasped in surprise, but didn't protest the comradely act. "Now come on partner, you said there was a sculpture garden around here?"

"Yes, yes I did."

"Then lead the way."

* * *

"Oooooohhhhhhhh…"

"Nora, don't you dare."

"What's the matter, Ren? I wasn't going to do anything."

"I know you. As such, I know that you were absolutely about to touch that."

Nora frowned but dutifully took a few steps away from the giant venus fly trap, which was twitching ominously. She only shrugged and turned away, skipping playfully after her longtime friend. The two shortly made their way through a path that led through a thick, jungle-like environment. Ahead of them was an opening, and the moment they stepped through, Nora's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

"Ohmygoshitsopretty!" she blurted out.

"Indeed it is," Ren agreed.

All around them was a wild garden, with large beds overflowing with haphazardly growing flowers of all shapes and sizes, every shade of every color. It put Beacon's own flower garden to shame, encompassing flora from every corner of Remnant. It was an explosion of mismatched colors and shapes, which all collided and seemed to fight for one's attention. And the smell, a medley of pollen, from the sweet to the sour, drifted through the air, and every breath one took was another intake of a bizarre, though certainly pleasant, scent.

The Vale Botanical Garden.

"I've heard a lot about this place, "Pyrrha said," but I never thought it'd be _this_ beautiful."

Jaune nodded, not quite able to speak, not really wanting to. Instead, he sat down on a picnic table and propped up his head with his hands, looking laxly at the massive indoor garden complex before him. It was a huge greenhouse, really, and this was the tropical part of it. Sweat dribbled on his skin from the abnormal heat, but the humid warmth didn't bother him at all. How could he bothered, when faced with a sight like this?

He let out a long breath, utterly content.

Eventually, the other three members of his team sat down at the table with him, and then he began to speak: "I never thought I'd ever get to see a place like this. Man, I've said that a lot ever since I came here."

He shook his head and swept his gaze across the little jungle surrounding him, the great expanse of flowers which sprung up daintily and happily. He smiled.

"You know, I never even saw a proper forest until a few months ago."

"Really?" Ren asked. "I suppose what they say about Vacuo is true; it really must be all desert."

"Eh, I wouldn't say that I grew up in a desert… just a wasteland. Nothing grew other than some sick-looking grass. There was only one place I ever found, a place that was sort of like a mini-forest." He closed his eyes and thought back to Oasis, with its bizarre benefactor, Harold. He remembered choosing to extend Harold's life, that his gift might spread out to the rest of the wasteland. "Yeah, that was a weird place, but hopefully it should start spreading flora from there. And my dad's water purification project made a lot of good water for irrigation, and a lot of the land around Rivet City became pretty fertile because of that. Lot's of people started up their own little gardens, if not for flowers, then for some crops."

He opened his eyes and looked once more at the jungle around him. Even though he'd been staring at it for a while now, he still felt a strange, consuming sensation. It was as if a sort of void was set before him, and he was looking deep into it, a hungry nothingness which devoured his vision completely. And he was happy to let that happen.

"I never thought I'd see anything like this. Never thought anything like this would even exist… at least not in my lifetime."

Nora scooted next to him and jammed her elbow into his ribs, making him wince, but certainly getting his attention. "Hey now, there has to have been _something_ about your wasteland that was nice, right? Heck, you even said it's better now, with your dad's project."

"Yeah, yeah it's better… for the first time in a long time, my homeland actually has a bright future ahead of it, now that Project Purity was successful and the Enclave got crushed. Things should be good there."

I hope. If that's the case, then maybe I can die with something to be proud of.

"What's your favorite flower, Jaune?" Pyrrha asked. "You love flowers and nature so much, do you have a favorite? Or is that too much to ask?"

"Nah, that's easy." He leaned back and thought back to a time which seemed so long ago, too long ago. It was after the mess at the Air Force Base. After the Pitt. He was a long way gone then; he'd been the Lone Wanderer.

He remembered walking through Arlington Cemetery, chasing after some bandits. When, out of the corner of his eye…

"It was the first flower I'd ever seen, and the only one I ever would see back in the wasteland. I didn't even know any would still grow there. It was pale, purple. Just a couple of little flowers blooming in front of a gravestone… it's nothing compared to all of this." He swept his arm out, gesturing at the vast army of petals that surrounded them, fresh and gorgeous. "But back then, it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. In a way, it still is. Man… to be honest, I even cried a little when I saw it. I couldn't even believe it was real." It was a beautiful sight, really. Those couple of little flowers had been so pretty, innocent, that he'd felt amazed and happy for the first time in a long time. He sat down and stared at them, just stared and stared for at least an hour, before leaving when he heard super mutants nearby.

He hoped that they were still growing.

"Wow… yeah, your homeland really sucked," Nora said. "But hey, at least it had a couple flowers, right? And look around, now this place has a bunch! It's awesome here!"

"I agree," Ren said. "You certainly chose an exceptional place to round off our break."

Jaune smiled. "All the better, that you guys are here to see it with me."

* * *

"And we're finished!" Jaune said, triumphantly stepping back and placing his hands on his hips to survey his accomplishment.

"Heh, RWBY's gonna be in for a surprise when they see this. Finally, their monopoly on bootleg bunkbeds has come to and end!" Nora yelled as she hopped up onto her bunk, the one above Ren's. It was suspended to the ceiling with duct tape and stretched-out bubblegum, Nora's chosen building materials.

His own bed was stacked on top of Pyrrha's by their posts, with duct tape securing them together. Really, duct tape had been their best friend in this whole process. If only he'd had some of that stuff back in the wasteland, would have made a lot of things a lot easier.

"It's certainly more spacious now," Ren said. "I just hope this won't have negative effects on my health in the future."

Pyrrha giggled and fell back on her own bed, the bottom bunk to his. "This was certainly a fun team-building exercise Jaune," she said. "Promise you won't collapse and crush me in my sleep?"

"Hey, I'm a master at jerry-rigging things, alright? You'll be fine—"

His scroll starting ringing its alarm from his pocket. For a moment, he was confused at what it was alerting him to, before his eyes widened in grim realization. Was it really time for that, already? He pulled his scroll out and checked the time. 11:50. It was. He'd gotten carried away in their impromptu session of home improvement.

"Well, I have to go now," he said. "It's time for my appointment."

The faces of his team were… mixed. A bit of pity, a bit more hope, and as they patted him on the back and congratulated him for the effort and wished him well, he couldn't help but think that they'd be disappointed when this inevitably failed.

He left their dorm and walked down the hallway, dragging his feet and walking slower than usual. It was useless though, trying to delay. The office was close to his dorm, and even though he was halfheartedly trying, he wouldn't be late. And he couldn't skip it either, or his friends would tear him apart. He'd promised them, after all.

He reached the office and waited outside for a moment.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

He opened the door and entered, then sat down in a quaint little waiting room. He checked the time again, now 11:58.

He'd already done the necessary preparation. Back when he'd told Miss Goodwitch about this, she'd gone and gotten him some forms. A lot of them detailed some legal stuff, like making sure he understood the confidentiality clauses he was protected by and such. There was also a huge survey, asking all sorts of questions about his mental health, family, feelings, habits and the like. It was a little difficult for him to sign away all the personal information, but he forced himself through it anyway, a feat made easier by how it all seemed to be pretty related to the task at hand.

Therapy.

Man, he'd never thought it'd actually come to this. He glanced again at the clock, saw it was now only a minute until noon. That was when his first appointment was scheduled, noon on the second-to-last day of break.

He wasn't sure what to expect. What would he say? What would he do? And would this even help?

Hmph, he was only here because the others, especially Ruby, made him come here. Let the shrink try, but he doubted that anything would actually happen. What was he supposed to do, recline on a couch and talk about his mother?

He glanced back at the clock.

Noon.

Well, it was time.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

He wasn't nervous. Not at all. Why would he be nervous? He was only facing the prospect of someone rooting around in his brain, possibly uncovering how much of an awful human being he was. He was a monster, a bastard, a down right piece of shit, and right now, he was going to be put on full display before someone whose job it was to surgically pick all that apart—

"Hello, Jaune?" she asked.

"Huh?" He looked up and saw a face peeking out of the open office door.

It was a woman, though she looked fairly young, at least compared to the other teachers around here, not past thirty. She peered at him with chocolatey brown eyes, a sharp gaze that peered under low-cut bangs that were perfectly flat and totally black, just like the rest of her shoulder-length hair. Her smile was warm, and she seemed genuinely happy to see him.

"Come on in," she said, stepping out and holding the door open wide. She was certainly a sight to behold, especially compared to the other staff. Black lipstick matched her eye-shadow, her hair and her fingernails; if she were any paler, then Jaune may have called her goth. Her outfit certainly fit that kind of description: a black, sleeveless t-shirt with a cartoonish skull on it, along with black combat boots and black jeans. The only part of her outfit that wasn't black was a long, industrial chain with strange etchings carved into it, which wrapped around her midriff like some sort of drab, grey girdle. She was the only person he'd ever met who outmatched even Blake's fondness for the darker palette.

Beacon's Psychology Professor and Head Counselor:

Pauline Peach.

* * *

 **Oh my, Professor Peach makes her long awaited debut! Points to anyone who saw this coming. I've mentioned a few times that she's the psychology teacher, so I hope this isn't coming straight out of left field. I initially wanted this role to be filled by Miss Goodwitch, before thinking: "hey, we don't know anything about Professor Peach, it'd be pretty fun to build her from the ground up." So that's what I've done. I hope she turns out as a nice character in her own right. All that we know from the show is that she's a girl and that she's sort of weird, which gives me a lot of leeway.**

 **Anyway, not too much happened this chapter, at least in terms of plot or drama. It's just one of those parts to show character interaction as well as set things up, especially with Ruby. I'm trying to explore her social anxiety a bit here, at least more than the show ever did. I hope it'll make her a more interesting character for this story.**

 **Also, some people expressed discontent with Blake's actions last chapter, believing that she wouldn't be upset by killing people or that she was being a hypocrite. Well, I think that Blake would accept it if Jaune had killed people in combat, whereas moral hardliners like Ruby would never allow that. However, she didn't just see Jaune kill people in combat. She saw him gruesomely decapitate an unarmed hostage with a chainsaw, then proceed to punt his head like it was a football. Even if the person being executed is a criminal/terrorist, such brutality is still nothing short of horrific. Blake has certainly hurt people, maybe even killed some people, but Jaune's a mile on the other side of a line she's not crossed. Not only that, but a willingness to resort to gratuitous violence is the exact thing that made her leave the White Fang, what she's trying to get away from. We understand where he's coming from, but no one else does, especially not Blake, who knows so little about him. Also, Jaune doesn't actually feel bad about what he did, like, at all. He'd prefer to leave that sort of stuff behind him, recognizing how 'dirty' it is, but he won't feel bad about resorting to it, and will resort to it naturally. His panic last chapter wasn't him being upset about his actions, but being upset at their possible ramifications, like alienating him from his friends.**

 **Anyhow, I'll get the next update within a couple weeks. All questions/reviews are both encouraged and appreciated, as always.**


	21. Chapter 21

**And we're back! Let's pick up where we last left off and see how Jaune's first therapy session is going to go down!**

* * *

The first thing he noticed was the music. It was strange, though that wasn't saying too much considering all of Remnant's music was strange to him. But this was especially odd, since it seemed to consist almost entirely of screeching, either through singing or the violent use of what sounded like it might be guitars. He found it unpleasant, to say the least, though it certainly fit in with the aesthetic that Peach had presented thus far.

"Sorry, let me turn that off," she said as closed the door behind them and strolled to her desk. She pressed a button on her scroll; the music ceased. She smiled and looked back to him. "I like metal, in case you couldn't tell."

Metal?

He glanced at the chains around her waist, which looked to be made of solid steel, or something similar. That was metal, surely, but other than that, the office didn't have much of the material. Her desk was made of wood; the walls, plaster; the floor, carpet.

He examined the room more closely. Nearly everything was black, unsurprisingly. Other than that, the walls and floor were a drab cream color, probably because that was the way it came and Peach wasn't able to paint it over. Her desk was solid black, and even the computer and the folders that rested on it were black. A few posters hung on the walls, depicting what he assumed to be bands of some kind, though they looked unruly and wild, with bizarre names to boot.

"Have a seat," Peach said as she sat down beside her desk. It faced the wall, giving her the ability to swivel on her chair to face him with nothing in between them. She gestured at the several pieces of furniture in the room. There were a couple of cushy chairs as well as a short sofa. It all fit easily within the fairly spacious office, along with a bookcase and a small table, on which rested several… toys?

"You can stand too," she said. "Whatever makes you feel comfortable. I had a client once who liked to pace back and forth during sessions. You can do whatever you want in here." He looked back to her, saw that there was still a happy smile on her face. Despite her idiosyncratic outfit and thematic choices, she managed to feel quite… disarming. Nonthreatening. Genuine in her presentation of kindliness and care.

"Also, feel free to take any knick-knacks you want." She pointed at the toys. "Just something to fidget with while you talk."

He looked at the toys, seeing a slinky, as well as a few stress balls and what looked like some kind of moldable clay. He scowled. How old did she think he was? It wasn't like he was a little kid who liked to play with 'knick-knacks' as she called them.

Whatever. He shrugged and sat down in one of the chairs, which was comfortable. Or, it should have been comfortable. He didn't seem to be able to find the right position. No matter which way he shifted once he sat down, he couldn't relax. He felt rigid, tense.

In the end, he wound up sitting hunched over at the edge of his seat.

"Are you going to get anything?" He asked. "Like, don't shrinks usually have clipboards or something to take notes?"

Peach giggled lightly and shook her head. "Nope, nothing like that. I prefer to just pay attention and have a conversation. Nothing you say is being recorded in any way beyond my memory."

Good, good. He didn't like the thought of notes about himself just lying around.

"Well, let me introduce myself," she said. "My name is Pauline Peach, though you can call me Peach. Really, you can call me whatever you like, I don't mind." She crossed one leg over the other and leaned back in her chair, settling in for conversation. The chains wrapped about her midriff clinked together. "I attended Beacon just like you, and then I went to the University of Vale afterwards to get my degree in psychology and train in counseling. I've been a huntress and therapist ever since."

"How does that work? They don't exactly sound like jobs that go together."

"Oh, you'd be surprised, Jaune. Can I call you Jaune? Or is there something else you'd like to go by?"

"Jaune is fine," he said with a nod.

"Alrighty then," she said. "Well, counseling and hunting can often go hand in hand. For years, I'd go along with other groups of huntsman and huntresses, hunting Grimm alongside them, then offer counseling services to any civilians who would need it. I'd also counsel any of my comrades who needed help." She sighed heavily and spun around a few times in her chair. "There's a pretty big need for people like me in the hunting business. Dealing with Grimm is nasty work, after all. They can damage the mind just as much as the body." She stopped spinning in her chair, once again facing him. "I try to help people cope and heal after what they go through. Just last year I was hired on by Beacon for the role I play now, and I've been trying to teach ever since, while giving the students a helpful resource. Did you know that Beacon never had a single therapist until just three years ago?"

He shook his head. "No, I didn't know that."

"Yes, a crying shame. Only recently is the hunting community coming to realize how important it is to upkeep mental health, especially in this industry. There's such a toxic bravado going around."

"What do you mean?"

She rolled her eyes and leaned back in her seat, letting out a frustrated sigh as she did. "Ugh, don't even get me started. There's such a focus on physical strength among hunters that mental health goes all but ignored. All the focus is given on how strong your aura is, or how cool your weapon is, or how awesome your semblance is. In comparison, mental problems are made out to be weak." She shook her head and scowled, as if looking at some dissenter in the distance. "Which it certainly is not. There's no weakness in you coming here, Jaune. Be sure of that."

"I didn't think there was," he said.

Her smile was bright. "Attaboy, that's the way to think. Now, enough about me, what brings you here? Is there anything specific you'd like to talk about or work on?"

"I'm here because my friends told me to be here," he said. "I don't want to be here, and I don't think I need to be here."

"Honesty, I like it!"

Huh?

He looked up at, a quizzical expression on his face, and was surprised to see a happy one on her own. Shouldn't she be a little upset that he was snubbing her?

"I much appreciate honesty here, Jaune," she said. "It wouldn't do if you really hated this but didn't share that." She shook her head. "No, no, no that wouldn't do at all." She swiveled in her chair and looked through some of the folders on her desk. "Now, I've worked with many people who don't want to be where they are. When it comes to young people like you, generally your family would force you to attend, or maybe the courts would order it. You say it was because your friends?"

She finished rifling through the untidy stack of folders and pulled out a set of papers, then turned back to him. She looked him firm in the eyes, though there was nothing aggressive about the move, no power play. "How is that? What do you mean when you say that your friends forced you to come here?"

"I mean, my friends forced me to come here. It's pretty self-explanatory."

"You signed up voluntarily, did you not?"

"I did, but only because they made me." He shrugged again, and a slight scowl fell on his face. How was this hard to get?

"Do you mean that they literally forced you to do this, like you were under duress?"

"What? No, they're not _literally_ forcing me to do this. I mean, they just really want me to, and they badgered me a lot."

Peach nodded a few times. "So you're here because you wish to comply with your friends' wishes?"

"Yes."

"And why do you think that your friends want you to attend therapy?" she asked.

"They're worried about me."

"And why do you think they're worried about you?"

"They think I need help." He shrugged and leaned back, edging a bit away from the edge of his seat, not so hunched and tense.

"And why do they think you need help?"

"I've been through a lot. My family and friends were killed. They think it's still messing with me."

He looked at her again, and her face was expressive in its pity, with a drooped mouth and soft eyes. "I'm sorry to hear that Jaune," she said. "Losing loved ones is a hard thing to go through, no wonder they'd want to seek out some help."

"Yeah, well, I've done fine for a while. I'm doing fine right now. I don't see much of a need to be here."

"I would like to contest that," she said.

He scowled and crossed his arms, scooting closer to the edge of his seat again. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, recognizing that there's a problem is always the first step in solving it," she said, then started flipping through the papers she'd picked up. "This is just some data on you that Ozpin gave me after you signed up. It's got the survey you filled out along with reports from all your teachers about you."

Something about that made his shoulders hunch. The skin on his back suddenly felt strangely prickly, as if several needles were poking at him. He didn't like having information about himself be out of his hands.

Peach flicked through the papers without really looking at them, showing she'd already poured over them as much as she needed. She sighed and tossed them back on her desk, where they messily landed along with the rest of her 'organized' paperwork.

"The general consensus was as follows: Jaune Arc is an antisocial young man with little interest in other people. If anything, he shows contempt and annoyance for those around him. He stays quiet and secludes himself from others. His rudeness to his peers seems tempered only by his unwillingness to get in trouble or interact. He applies himself well to lessons both in and out of class, but is never willing to participate or interact with others. He regularly appears on-edge." Peach tilted her head and looked at him. "Jaune, do you think that that description applies to you?"

"Yeah, sounds about right."

Peach nodded a few times. "And what do you think I felt, when I read through that?"

He scoffed and looked away from her. "I bet you figured I was a pain, or a delinquent who needed to be straightened out." Surely, she couldn't have been happy to be assigned to someone—

"I felt sorry," she said.

"What?" He turned back to her.

Her face definitely showed it, an expression that seemed to consist of guilt mixed with sadness graced her face. "I felt sorry, because we've done you a great disservice. That's why I decided to take on your case personally."

"You… you decided that?"

"Yes," she said. "The counseling services here are nascent, as are the teachers' ability to interact with us. It's no fault on their end, so much as ignorance." She sighed, exasperated. "Most people seem to think that those with mental health issues will seek it out on their own, when that's hardly the case. Like I said earlier, bravado makes a lot of hunters suppress their problems or try to ignore them. Many people are too ashamed to admit that they're troubled, since society at large has stigmatized this issue. And many people don't even realize that there's a problem to begin with."

"Don't realize? How do people not realize there's something wrong with them?"

"Because it becomes their new normal," Peach said. "Generally, the descent into mental issues is fairly gradual. Over time, a change in someone's behavior or thought process can occur without them realizing it. They don't understand that something's wrong, because that's 'just the way things are' for them. A new normal, an unhealthy normal, that they become accustomed to, not realizing that there are healthier alternatives. There's also a great deal of misinformation or lack of information about these conditions, which renders people unable to recognize it within themselves."

Jaune nodded a few times, sinking back into his seat as he did. "Makes sense," he said.

"Indeed. For example: someone might fall into issues with depression and anxiety without even realizing. For one, depression is often mischaracterized; many think of it as being extremely sad or apathetic, which is often the case, but it can also manifest in other unexpected ways.

"In young adults, depression often takes shape in the form of extreme irritability which is directed both outwards and inwards, at oneself and at others. This means self-hate and low self-esteem coupled with rude or even aggressive interactions with peers."

"Really? I didn't know that…"

"Indeed. And anxiety can be the result of many factors, like stress or trauma. It can often take shape in paranoia, heightened nervousness, sleep difficulties. I believe you reported sleeping difficulties in your survey, yes?"

"I did."

"You also reported that you had many difficulties with nightmares, yes?"

"Yeah, it used be nearly every night at the beginning of the year. Not so bad anymore."

"Good to hear," she said. "Nightmares are nasty stuff. They can also be the symptom of a wide array of difficulties, like trauma." She stopped to think for a moment.

Only then, in the quiet interregnum, did Jaune realize that his hands were clasped together, and he was squeezing them together quite strongly.

"Tell me, would you say that the death of your family and friends still effects you?"

"Yeah, yeah I'd say that."

"Were you there when it happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it," he snapped, a sharp edge to his voice. He'd already talked about it enough with his friends, and he sure as hell wasn't going to tell it all to someone he just met. She could try all she wanted but—

"Fair enough," Peach said.

Huh? Well… that was easy.

"You're not going to try and pry my problems out of me?" he asked.

"Nothing can be done here that you don't want to do," she said, and again that smile of hers returned. "Everything here relies on your participation, on your comfort and your readiness. And this is just our first session, too. No need to dive into the hardest part yet. In fact, I'd be surprised if you did. After all, we just met, and some trust is required before divulging one's greatest difficulties."

He nodded a few times. "Yeah… I just don't really want to talk about that. I've already talked about it with my friends."

"Really? That's nice. Tell you what, how about we talk about that instead, about your friends."

"Yeah, sure." He sighed and leaned back a bit more, relaxing slightly now that some time had passed and the difficult things were left behind. He was afraid that things were going to be a bit more forceful than this, but she seemed pretty compliant and understanding and understanding thus far. "I've got my team, and there's another team we hang out with. I'm good friend with their leader."

"Is that so? In the teacher's reports, they mentioned that there was one exception to your antisocial behavior: they all named a girl named Ruby Rose. I suppose she's the one you're speaking of?"

"You suppose correctly," he said, smiling now. Smiling for the first time since he entered the office.

Peach did not miss that detail.

"I really like Ruby. She was my first friend when I came to Beacon, and she's been my best friend ever since. We just… get along. She's nice too, really nice." He leaned back into his seat, relaxing well for the first time since he entered the room.

Peach did not miss that detail either.

"She's done a lot for me," he said.

"That's nice," she said. "Do you spend a lot time together, just the two of you?"

"We made plans to hang out tomorrow out in Vale."

"Are you looking forward to that?"

"Heck yeah I am," he said, smiling.

"That's good, good. Now tell me about the others."

And so he did. The rest of the hour they had together went by without a problem. It was mainly just him talking about himself, his friends and some of the things he'd done recently. There was especially a lot of talk about his efforts over break.

"Wow, that's really impressive Jaune. Putting yourself out of your comfort zone to engage in a healthy activity like bonding with friends—you're definitely on the right track here," Peach said. The smile on her charcoal-black lips was, again, genuine. Judging from her appearance, one wouldn't expect her to be quite as chipper and smiley as she was, but she was like an older, more reserved version of Ruby or Nora. It was a charming personality: warmth wrapped up in cool temperament.

"Thanks," he replied. "But I didn't do well... especially with Nora. It was damn pathetic how I had to keep hiding away from the crowds—"

"Nope, I'm going to stop your right there."

"What?"

"I would like you to strip the negativity from your statements, Jaune. You're judging yourself, and that's a pretty unhealthy practice to fall into." She held up one finger. "Hang on for a moment." Peach reached over to her desk and pulled out a fresh sheet of printer paper. She grabbed a pen and scribbled down on it. "Now, I believe that this is about what you just said."

She held up the sign for him to see, and it read: _I was pathetic, had to hide from the crowds_

"Now, the troubling part of this statement is how judgmental it is," she said. "The words 'pathetic' and 'hide' don't really fit."

"But that's what it was. I'm not judging, just stating fact."

"That you are not," she said. "Jaune, you're putting yourself down for something that's quite admirable. You've got a lot of difficulties with being social, yet you still pushed yourself. That's behavior we call 'opposite action'. Basically, it means trying to do the opposite of whatever unhealthy behavior has been plaguing you." Peach flipped the paper around and started to scribble on it, then presented the new side to him.

It read two words: _Engagement_ and _Isolation_

"Isolating oneself from others is a common ineffective coping mechanism for a wide array of problems. Engaging with others is a healthy alternative. That's what you're doing. Without any advice, you're on the right track, doing the opposite of the unhealthy behavior your initially compelled to do."

"Huh…"

"Which is why you're awesome!" Peach shouted with glee. "Really Jaune, it's a breath of fresh air to have someone come in who's already so motivated and already doing the right things!"

He smiled a little and turned away. "It's nothing big…"

"No, no, no, it is. Again, you're judging. Revel in a little self-affirmation, Jaune. Self-affirmation's very important for one's mental health. Recognize your accomplishments, pat yourself on the back." She flipped the paper back to show his earlier statement. "Now, how about you and I work on changing this to strike the judgement out of it?"

And so they did. Over the next few minutes, the two of them discussed the sentence, and although Jaune was reluctant to actually believe it, they changed it around: _I separated from the crowds._

"There you go," she said. "Pure fact, no strings attached. And needing to separate from crowds is nothing bad."

"But I thought you said isolation is bad?"

"When I mention 'isolation' I mean quartering yourself away from others for indeterminate amounts of time because your mood dictates it. That's unhealthy. Separation, on the other hand, is an effective and distinct strategy. If you're becoming emotionally destabilized, it can be really good to separate yourself from the situation and the stressor, to take some time to cool off." Peach raised on finger up in the air. "But it's all situational. There's nothing wrong with taking a break from the crowds if they make you anxious; it's problematic if you never leave your room because you can't handle being with anyone. It's fine to walk away from an argument if things are getting heated, so long as you address it later; it's problematic if you plan on abandoning that argument and not resolving the issue. Isolation is stagnation, whereas separation is a part of progress."

He nodded. The two of them continued to talk for a little while about his break, and Peach still had to stop him several times whenever he said something she deemed 'judgmental'. It was a little annoying, he had to admit, but he went along with it nonetheless. She stopped him a lot.

The rest of the hour went easily, talking a lot about break, his friends, some of his interests, nothing too serious or impactful. It was actually sorta nice. It just felt like a good conversation. The clock struck 1:00 before he realized it.

"Now before you go, I have something for you," Peach said. She pulled out a small notebook from her desk and tossed it to him.

He caught it easily. It was just simple little pocket book, nothing special. He opened up to the first page, saw that there was a series of numbers written at the top.

"I wrote down my scroll number there," Peach explained. "If you have any issues you want to talk about, feel free to call and I'll do my best to help you out in that moment or arrange an emergency meeting. I'm fairly busy, so I can't promise I'll always pick up right away, but I'm on call nonetheless, and will try to reply as soon as I can." She tossed him a pen after that, which he caught easily. "Now, I've also got a little homework assignment for you."

"What!?"

The shocked tone in his voice and the panic on his face had Peach erupt in high-pitched laughter for a moment. She spun around in her chair a few times as she laughed, before stopping to face him once more, wiping a fake tear from her eye as she regained control.

"Don't worry," she said after calming down. "I'm not so cruel to give you real homework for going to therapy." She shook her head and chuckled a bit more. "No, no, this is nothing much. All I want from you are positive affirmations."

"Positive whats?"

"Positive affirmations," she repeated. "Every night before you go to sleep, I want you to write down five good things that happened that day. I want you to bring back that notebook for our meeting next week so I can check to make sure you did it."

"And why does any of that matter?"

"It focuses in on positivity. By actively cataloging the good things that are happening to you, it should help improve your outlook on things. I do it every night."

"Really?"

"I practice what I preach," she said. "So, does noon next Saturday work well for you?"

"Yeah…" He nodded a few times, slowly. "Yeah, it sounds great."

* * *

Jaune sat with his team in the cafeteria. They ate at the side of the room, so that he could have his back facing the wall, nothing behind him. They were also a little removed from the other students, with only team RWBY sitting near them, just across from them at the same table. Well, all of RWBY aside from Ruby herself, who was off doing 'something really important' as she'd said.

"It really wasn't too bad," he said. "She was nice."

"Yeah, Peach is pretty cool," Nora said, then shoved an entire croissant into her mouth. While still chewing, she continued to speak: "Some people say she's weird but I don't get it!"

"I think it's her appearance," Ren said. He absentmindedly poked his food with his fork while he spoke. "Many find her 'aesthetic' to be a little… unique. Especially for a teacher. Compared to the rest of the staff here, one would expect her to be the way she is."

"Me," Jaune said, dismissing the comment. "Everybody here looks 'unique' to me. The way I see it, you all dress weird and listen to weird music. I've just gotten used to that by now."

"Well, to us, _you're_ the funny one here, Jaune," Yang said with a wink. "Not everybody's from the Vacuo sticks."

"Yeah, I guess not," he replied.

I'm not either.

"Her teaching style in class is also a little abnormal," Pyrrha said after finishing off some mashed potatoes. "Not bad, just unexpected." She looked ready to say more, before an intrusion threw things off course.

"Guys! Guys! Guys!" Ruby said, suddenly zipping to the table, clutching a large binder to her chest. "I've figured it out! I've got it all figured out!" She slammed the massive tome down on the table and started excitedly jumping up and down.

"Is that my binder?" Weiss asked.

"I am not crook!" Ruby immediately defended, her excitement not at all bothered by the accusation. "I've planned out the best day ever for our last day of break! We're going to start the second quarter off with a bang!"

"Heh, I'm going to start it off with a Yang!"

Silence reigned.

Jaune sighed and shook his head. "You're not funny, and you should stop trying."

Suddenly, two eyes, each dangerously red, were mere inches from his face. Yang Xia Long stared at him, and she seemed far from happy.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" she growled. "I didn't hear you."

"Uhhh… I mean, um…" He leaned back to get away from her, but she only leaned in closer in response. He chuckled nervously. "Nothing, I didn't say anything… "

She grunted and sat back down on her side of the table. "Damn right you didn't… my jokes are hilarious!"

"Hilariously _bad_ …" he muttered under his breath.

"What was that!?"

"Nothing."

"No, come on, I wanna hear you say it."

"Guys, come on," Ruby said, interjecting herself between her sister and her friend before things could get any uglier. "I've planned out an awesome day of super awesome activities for us all to do!"

"What? Fantastic!" Nora yelled, slamming down her hands onto the table, a move that would prove to be quite fateful. Unknowingly, she smashed one of her fists straight down onto her spoon, which was lodged into a pile of pudding, subsequently acting like a catapult.

And just like that, there was pudding in Yang's long, beautiful hair.

Jaune had the sense to duck and cover.

Duck, cover and crawl your way to the exit while all hell breaks loose around you. The entire cafeteria erupted in violence as Yang and Nora, the most unhinged of them all, went at each other's throats, arms with watermelons and baguettes.

Nope, nope, nope, not dealing with any of this.

By taking refuge behind and under tables, Jaune managed to escape to the cafeteria's exit and slip out the door while pandemonium was fully unleashed behind him. He slammed the door shut and took a deep breath, cringing at the sound of screaming and chaos within.

"Hey… what's happening in there?" He looked to his side, saw two men, one with blonde hair and one with blue hair.

Blue hair… and the people here called Peach weird?

"Hey, hey, hey, nice seeing you again," the blonde said, and it was only then that Jaune finally recognized him as the faunus who'd been at the docks with Blake. Wait, what was he doing here?

"What are you doing here?" he asked. "Uh, Sun, right?"

"Yup, that's me!" he said with a wide smile. "And I'm here 'cause I'm a transfer student. I just showed up early, and now I'm showing my partner around. Neptune, meet Jaune. Jaune, meet Neptune."

"Nice seeing you," Neptune said. He flashed a stupid smirk and some sort of pose too.

Jaune scoffed, unimpressed.

"Well whatever, I need to get out of here before—"

The doors beside them slammed open, and suddenly, Nora had entered the scene.

"You!" she yelled, pointing one accusatory finger at Jaune. "Deserter! How dare you abandon your kingdom in its hour of need?"

"What?"

"No excuses! The charge for treason is mandatory service! I'm the queen of the castle, and you shall protect me and the kingdom from here on out!" She grabbed him by the wrist and wrenched him back into the cafeteria.

And just like that, the Lone Wanderer became a part of the Great Beacon Food Fight.

* * *

Two people, one boy and one girl, walked side by side down a path that led through a quaint public park. It was a longer route to where they were headed, but one of them had insisted on getting a chance to enjoy the nature.

"I swear, I _still_ smell like salami," Jaune said.

Ruby giggled. "Well, you can thank Weiss for that. She was pretty vicious."

"She's always pretty vicious."

"Ouch, you better hope she doesn't find out you said that."

"Hey, she'd only find out from you. Are you about to tattle on me?"

"Eh, I dunno. Guess it depends on whether or not you pay for the ice cream."

"Hey, you said we were splitting everything!"

Ruby skipped ahead a few paces, humming mischievously as she did so. "Hmph, that was before you insulted my partner."

"You've said worse!" He put his hands on his hips and glared at her.

Ruby giggled and looked away. "Alright, then I guess I can forgive you, _for your terrible slight against the Schnee family name,"_ she said in a mimicking voice.

He laughed, and she laughed too, and they continued walking and bantering through the park. Tall trees stood around them, their ancient bows creaking and stooping under the stress of age, such that it looked like they were leaning in to listen to what they were saying.

They strolled out of the park and along the city street. He walked on the edge of the sidewalk, and she walked between him and any people. It was a conscious move on his part. He was unaware of whether or not it was a conscious move on hers, but he was grateful for it nonetheless.

He walked comfortably beside her. He could turn his back to her without a second thought. He stood near her with his arms hanging at either side, rather than in front of him, ready for action.

He relaxed with her, and her easy smile and her kindly manner.

It wasn't long before they arrived at their destination: Ruby's favorite street in Vale. There was an ice cream shop, and right next to that was a comic store, and right next to that was a videogame store, and right next to that—for some elusive reason—was a weapon's store. Just about everything she could ever want, all lined up next to one another like dominoes. And like dominoes falling over, they would be visited one after the other.

A bell above the door rang as he and Ruby entered the store. She smiled at the men behind the counter, who smiled back, undoubtedly knowing her well by now. She told him to pick out a seat while she got their orders, a command he followed easily.

He immediately picked out a place at the back of the room, where the entrance was fully visible to him and he could keep his back up against a solid wall. Only then, did he let himself settle into his seat and look around at the little restaurant. It served ice cream and ice cream only, with no more than ten small tables scattered around. The primary color of the place was pink, a happy shade that fit in with the general cheer that ice cream always liked to inspire.

Then, Ruby was sitting down across from him. She placed between them a single, massive bowl of strawberry ice cream covered in a bath of chocolate sauce. She passed him a spoon; he smiled; she smiled; it was all gone in five-minute's time.

Each of them sat back and gave out contented sighs from the frozen feast.

He smiled some more, and she smiled some more, and there was an easy silence for a little while. A little while. Before it began to degrade into something less comfortable, when the two of them realized that they really didn't know what to do from there. They'd never gone out into Vale together, and within each of them now resided an odd sort of tension that neither of them quite understood. They only knew there was a sense of nervousness now in this situation, though they might not know why. It was something about the setting, the setting of a boy and a girl out eating ice cream together. It felt like something, like a certain scenario that went unsaid between them an even within them, for fear of touching upon something large and unknown and even a little frightening.

This had a very visible effect: it was awkward.

Was he supposed to say something?

Was she supposed to say something?

What do I do now?

We already ate…

They both pulled out their scrolls and idly browsed the internet. But neither of them managed to invest themselves in that action, as the weight of the growing silence became heavier and heavier, impressing itself upon them, suffocating. Ruby took a breath, held it in, let it go. Just like he'd taught her to do.

"So… how was your break?"

"It was pretty good," he said. There was still a strange tension within himself. There was something about this… it made him nervous. "How was yours?"

"Pretty good," she said with a few noncommittal nods.

There was silence.

"Uh, what'd you do, exactly? Where'd you go?"

"A teahouse, the gardens, an amusement park and the art museum. It was fun." He looked around at their environment, a decidedly chipper place. He looked back at the girl across from him. "This is pretty nice too."

And from there, the strange bout of awkward tension trickled away as they each settled into things. It was just two good friends out in town, spending time together. Nothing more. Don't be weird. Just have fun.

And they did. It was near impossible for them not to have a good time, when they were together. Between the two of them, they chatted for a while, then went over to the comics store, and Ruby utterly nerded out over the heavenly assortment of graphic novels, an obsession Jaune was more than willing to indulge and get sucked into himself. Then they went next-door to the videogame store, where things were much the same. Heck, it was a repeat at the weapons and dust apparel shop as well.

Ruby delighted in her own passions, first sweets then comics then games then guns, one after the other. And Jaune, he was just happy to see it all shine out. Ruby seemed so alive, her vitality a thing to behold.

He loved it.

* * *

"It was fun," he told Nora. They were the only two in the room, as Ren and Pyrrha had departed to attend office hours with Doctor Oobleck. Those two were good students, they really were. Better than either Jaune or Nora, anyways. He was good enough to get B's and the occasional A, but that was it. And Nora? As long as she was passing, that was fine. Because passing allows for smashing.

Right now, however, she seemed to have something other than violence on her mind.

Jaune sat down at his own desk, which Nora had decided to sit on. Much like a cat, she was now using his homework like her own personal cushion, making it impossible for him to do anything but give her the attention that she desired. Right now, she was using that attention to pry out more information.

Jaune had walked in, told her he'd had a fun time, then tried to leave the issue be, but oh no mister, that won't be how this is going. I know you, Jauney boy, and I can see in your eyes something different, something incredible, something… something…

"Smitten!" she yelled. "That's the word, smitten! You're super smitten! More smitten than a mitten!" She pointed at him and jammed a finger against his forehead. "That's you!"

He sighed and let her finger press against his skull, knowing any kind of reaction would be futile. "What are you talking about?"

"Do you not know what smitten means?"

"No, I know what it means. Do _you_ know what it means?"

"Ugh, accusing my illiteracy? How dare you!" She shook her head and crossed her arms. "Of course I know what it means, but that doesn't matter! It's the application of the meaning that matters!"

"Well that's the thing: there's no application of the meaning. I'm not smitten, nothing's going on!" he said, feeling his cheeks heat up. "I don't appreciate the implication."

"Ooh, and what implication would that be?"

"I think you know."

"Oh, but do I? I think you need to say it."

"I'm not saying anything," he said, digging a harsh scowl onto his face. However, whatever intimidating effect it could have had was diminished by the fact that his face was turning to a bright shade of red.

"Come on, say it."

"Nuh-uh."

"Say it."

"No way."

"Say it."

He ground his teeth together and looked away from her. "There's no 'smittening' going on here, Nora. Nothing. Two friends went out into Vale and had some fun together. Stop acting like this."

"Friends, huh?"

"Friends."

"So… you guys didn't just go on a date?"

"Of course not!" He snapped his head to try and stare her down, but something about the perky smile on her face, not to mention the excited, knowing look in her eye, defeated him immediately, and he had to look away once more. "Come on, I did the exact same thing with all of you guys, too. There's no difference."

"Mmm… I think there's a bit of a difference."

"How?"

"You have a different relationship with Ruby than with the rest of us."

"Is that so? We're friends, the same as with the rest of you."

"Really?"

"Really."

* * *

Ruby skipped into her room, humming happily, a large smile on her face. Weiss sat at her desk, not bothering to look away from the book she was reading. That didn't mean she was about to tune out, oh no. This was too good an opportunity to miss.

"So, how was your date?" Weiss asked.

Ruby immediately gasped and froze, trying (largely unsuccessfully) to collect herself and not appear flustered. "I-we-us… er, there was no date!"

"You two went out into Vale, spent time together…"

"Yeah, friends do that! I've done that with plenty of friends before!" Ruby scowled and put her hands on her hips, adopting the best 'imperious' position she could muster, though her face was the same shade as her hood, diminishing that effect. "And Jaune went out with all his team over the break, too! That doesn't mean he's dating anybody!"

"Goodness me, Ruby, you seem to be getting quite worked up," she said, suppressing a cruel smile.

"W-well yeah, because you're suggesting something that, that's just totally not true!"

"Oh, and what am I suggesting?"

"That Jaune and I went out together as more than friends, and that is NOT true. We're just spending time together."

"Again, I must inquire: why are you getting _this_ flustered?"

"Erk, don't do that to me!" Ruby shook her head and stomped to her bed, then climbed up onto her top bunk. Her face only got redder, and her anger only intensified, when she heard her partner snicker with perfidious delight.

She laid down on her bed, then grabbed her pillow and held it over her face. She'd just hide away from the world for a little while. Gods… she'd known this would be a bad idea, she really did. In some ways, it was! It'd been weirdly awkward for a moment at the beginning, a situation she still didn't understand and certainly didn't like. And now, everyone was… well, they were being suggestive!

But… in many ways, it had been a good idea, too. They'd had fun, a lot of fun, and now her fears of being replaced and sidelined were in the past. Things were going well.

Under the pillow, unbeknownst to the whole wide world, she was smiling.

* * *

"So when's this weirdo supposed to show up anyway?" Mercury asked.

"It'd do you well not to refer to him as such," Cinder said, silencing her underling with the stern words, but not so stern that she at all seemed annoyed. She never seemed to drop that sense of grace around them, a kind of regality. Even now, stretched out as she was on the couch, she looked fit for a painting.

Idly, she looked off into the warehouse below here, from the suite that Roman had quartered off for her when she was in Vale. Emerald and Mercury both stood in the room beside her. All of them waited for another.

"Our partner would hardly appreciate being called 'weird'. It's important to cultivate these sorts of ties for now, and I'd hate to dissatisfy him by prodding his ego."

"Eh, not like I was going to call him that to his face."

"Just making sure Mercury. You've proven to be quite liberal with that tongue of yours."

Emerald snickered silently, a small joy that Cinder let pass. Those two's antics were well beneath her, but preserving some competition between one's underlings was never a bad thing. It made them work harder and trust each other less, especially in relation to her.

"But what do we even know about the guy?" Mercury asked. "Does he go around wearing a creepy gas mask like the rest of them?"

"He does."

"And we don't even know his name? His face?"

"I know both his name and face," Cinder said. "Those are details he'd like to keep sparse, however, so it's kept only to those who require it. Neither of you do, so neither of you will know."

Mercury huffed, but Emerald only nodded.

"Don't worry, he's a valuable ally, just as much as these White Fang and Torchwick. In more ways than one, he could turn out even better."

"And you trust him?" Emerald asked.

"Not in the slightest." She shrugged. "But the things he's after are easy to control: power and revenge. Those are simple, self-serving desires that one can easily take advantage of. In selfishness lies security, at least for now."

The three of them went silent as the door to the suite swung open.

One bulky figure clad in black military attire entered the room, instantly filling it with the disconcerting weeze of his gas mask. They all recognized him as the one Torchwick liked to call 'Art' while all the other personnel in gas masks only referred to him deferentially as 'Lieutenant'. About a dozen of his kind had come around recently, residing in Torchwick's base in Vale and preparing for a new mission.

"Hail to the Commander-in-Chief!" he announced.

The doorway remained empty for a moment longer, before a tall figure appeared through it. This one was indistinguishable from any of the others in gas-mask uniform. There was no insignia or decoration that designated him as higher rank, but one could tell from his confident strut and his chin held high, that he was accustomed to respect and power. The only notable thing about his appearance was the long sword he kept at his side.

"Thank you Lieutenant," he said, voice raspy and muffled from the gas mask. "You may leave us now."

Without another word, Art saluted and left, such that the room contained only four.

Cinder rose from her place resting on the couch and smiled at him. "A pleasure to see you again, Commander," she said. "I'd like to introduce you to my two close associates: Emerald and Mercury."

"A pleasure to meet you both," he said. He strolled across the room and gave each a handshake that was neither soft nor strong, just confidently firm. And even through his bulky gas mask, the words rang both assertive but amiable. There was just something about his entire manner that was wholly inviting.

Nevertheless, neither Emerald nor Mercury fully let their guard down. If this was someone Cinder valued so highly as to include him into their operation, then danger and depravity would be two things most assuredly present.

He turned away from them and looked back to their boss. There was no need for any petty pleasantries between them like shaking hands or exchanging hellos. They were each motivated people with aligned goals, which they planned on executing as soon and as effectively as possible.

"So," he said, "what is this plan you spoke of?"

"Oh, I think you'll love it."

"So long as I get my revenge, I'm sure to adore it."

* * *

 **Oh my, well that's not ominous at all. Also, sorry if the date scene is underwhelming, but I had serious writer's block with it. Eventually, I just decided to go sparse. I think it still conveyed what needed to be conveyed. Anyway, be sure to leave any reviews and questions come to your mind. See ya next time.**


	22. Chapter 22

It hurt.

"You'd better just tell us," he said. "I'll make you talk eventually. I always do. You'll save yourself a lot of pain if you just give up the code."

"Go fuck yourself!"

"That hardly sounds like a code to me."

"Go fuck yourself!"

"You aren't doing yourself any favors, you know."

"Seriously, go fuck yourself!"

A young Maxwell Noble struggled against the forcefield which kept him suspended. His eyes bore into the only other person in his steel cell. Bishop's lackey, the man named Arthur.

"Agent Beauvais has been gracious with you thus far," he said. "We allowed you the chance to willingly tell us the code to the GECK, and I haven't gone all the way yet with the sort of pain I can push you through."

"Fuck yo—"

Max's latest diatribe was cut off by a sudden, piercing scream as Arthur sighed and pressed down on a button set into a nearby panel, sending electricity ripping through the suspension field, right into Max's body.

"I warned you," he said as Max convulsed. "This is going to become very, very unpleasant for you if you don't just tell us the code." He took his finger off the button, ending the electric attack. Max was left heaving and shaking. "Now, are you going to—"

The intercom cracked.

"Hello?" someone asked. Max could tell it was certainly another one of the Enclave, for he had that same odd accident, vaguely southern and unnaturally refined. "Arthur, are you there?"

"Mr. President?"

"Ah, excellent, you are. Now, I'd like for you to stop what you're doing to our latest guest. If you could instead let him free and allow him to come to my office, that would be ideal."

"I'm sorry Mr. President, but the Colonel and Agent Beauvais ordered me to—"

"Excuse me? The last time I checked, it was written in the United States constitution that the President is the commander in chief. Accordingly, you follow my orders, and I order you to escort our guest to my office. Will that be a problem?"

Arthur stared up at the intercom, then back at Max, then back again. For a moment he seemed torn, before he sighed and relented. "Yes sir, I'll get him to you right away…"

Arthur's voice trailed off, as if he was suddenly getting further and further away. The room itself was slowly consumed by darkness, as the few observing shadows occupying the scene swelled and became bloated, eating everything as they expanded. Arthur was wiped away, and the walls were nowhere to be seen, and there seemed to be nothing else in all of existence aside from an overwhelming black void.

The dark room.

"My, my, my, what an interesting memory," someone said. It wasn't just someone. It was his nightmare.

The Lone Wanderer desperately moved to try and see the source, try and fight him, but again he felt as if he was still trapped in that suspension field, utterly helpless and totally immobile.

"But that was an interesting time, wasn't it?" he asked. That vaguely southern drawn, refined and tinged with a strange calmness, a friendly tone. He sounded like every other member of the Enclave, but with an added dose of kindliness. "That was the beginning of our little deception, wasn't it? You truly believed I was working against Eden? My father? You're an exceptionally foolish person, you know that?

"Of course you know that. The reminders are all around you. Well, I suppose the absences are more of a reminder than anything else. Your team? Remember them?"

The Wanderer strained, to no avail.

"Hmph, I suppose you're trying to do your best to forget about them, what now that you've callously replace them. Is that your way of coping with the fact that you got them killed? You know, you're still the same person now as you were back then…" Bishop Beauvais came full into view, stepping outside of the shadows with that horrific smile on his face, kindly to a fault. "And since you're the same person, there's no way for you to stop it all from happening again. It will. You're dooming these people with your presence, you know that? You're finishing them, you exceptionally awful creature."

Words struggled to burst from his throat and out his mouth, but again, he could not move.

Bishop chuckled.

"Oh? What as this? Do you want to talk to me? You want to say something? Well go on, say it."

Suddenly, his lips were free. "You're wrong!" he shouted. "I'm different! I'm stronger and I'm better! I was always better than you! I killed you! I—"

Bishop's fist lashed out, bashing him in the jaw with a sickening crunch. He didn't feel any pain, but there was certainly an odd sensation in his mouth and his face which told him his jaw and his teeth had just been shattered. He felt the broken shards of bone slide back into his throat as he swallowed.

"That's enough of that," Bishop said. "And you're all wrong, by the way, about everything. You're still the same, and you're still weak, and you didn't kill me." His smile widened. "Even if you turned me into ashes with that mini-nuke of yours, I'm still alive. I'm alive because I'm _in_ you; I'm with you." Bishops placed his hand on the Wanderer's chest. "And that will always be the case. I'll always be right here…"

A horrible feeling manifested in his chest, behind his ribcage, right where his heart was supposed to be. It was a heavy, foreign presence that just… just… was _there_. It was there, and it felt so awful, so wrong, in so many ways.

Bishop laughed. "I could go on and on about how utterly horrendous you are, but I'm not sure that would have a great effect. Instead, how about you hear it from _them_."

Suddenly, from the shadows appeared two figures. For a moment, the Wanderer didn't recognize them, but as their form took shape and the details manifested, their pained visages he well remembered. Children. Two children that couldn't have been more than a few years younger than he was.

His eyes opened, and he shot bolt upright in bed, panting heavily, covered in a sheen of slick sweat. His eyes were wild, glancing back and forth. His chest rattled as he took in haphazard handfuls of air, only to choke them out a moment later.

Where was he? Where…

That was right, he was in Beacon. He was in the top punk of the jerry-rigged bunk bed he'd made with Pyrrha. Across the room, Ren and Nora slept soundly in a similarly unsafe scenario. His team. He was with his team, his friends, somewhere safe.

He placed one hand on his chest, and beneath his skin, he still felt the presence of something unnatural and unwanted. It felt terrible.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

He took in a deep breath and smelled the aroma of strawberry, released by the little diffuser kept beside his pillow.

He laid back down and shut his eyes. He tried to go back to sleep, he really did. Though he didn't want to, not with the chance of facing his nightmare again. However, he was graced with the security of his team's presence, and the ever pleasant scent of strawberry. He was in an exceedingly comfortable place, and these sorts of night terrors weren't as common as they once were.

Nevertheless, they still occurred, and on wicked nights like this, he couldn't go back to sleep. An hour must have passed until he finally gave up. He checked his scroll and, squinting against its harsh light in the middle of the night, saw that it wasn't even two in the morning. Great, he'd hardly been asleep four hours.

He sighed and slowly pried off the sheets, then quietly climbed down from his bed.

This just wasn't going to be one of those nights, when he could get back to sleep. Not after _that_. The Lone Wanderer sighed and rubbed the tips of his fingers gently into his temples. He didn't have a headache, but the motion was soothing nonetheless. At least it served to distract him a bit from the awful feeling dwelling within his chest.

He threw on a dirty pair of pants and snuck from the room. He still made his fair share of creaks and squeaks leaving, but thankfully he didn't wake up the others this time around. Ren had proven himself surprisingly aware while asleep; now, he slipped out without disturbance.

He meandered through the halls for a little while. He didn't have a destination— that wasn't the point. The Lone Wanderer just wanted to follow his namesake for a little while, hopefully clear his head.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

The images from the dream faded away, the images of those two kids, of Bishop, of Arthur, of that terrible chamber. His dreams didn't seem to seep to far into reality, at least not for too long, at least not anymore.

He tensed when he heard something around a corner up ahead. Unmistakably, footsteps. When he saw who it was, his posture relaxed ever so slightly.

"Oh, hello there Jaune," Peach said with her little smile. "Whatcha doing up so late?" She carried a pile of papers and books, a few drops of sweat on her forehead. She looked around, taking note of the dimly lit hall and the pitch-black windows. "Really, I know it's the end of the week but you've still got school tomorrow. Save staying up late for the weekends, why don't you?" She looked back to him, and her smile receded.

"Having a rough night?" she asked.

"Yeah, not sleeping so well. Just decided to take a walk."

"Do walks usually help you get to sleep?"

"No, but it's better than lying in bed, isn't it?"

Peach tilted her head and observed him. "You definitely do look worn out. Do you think you could go back to your dorm and try to get some more rest, if just a little bit? You know, getting enough sleep is crucial to both physical and mental health."

Jaune found that a little funny, though not funny enough to laugh. She really was the caring type, wasn't she? Then again, that's sort of a requirement, given the occupation.

He shook his head. "No, no it won't be any good. I can tell already that I won't be able to sleep again tonight." He rubbed his eyes. He didn't feel any fatigue behind them, not after the adrenaline rush of the nightmare.

"Anything wrong in particular?" Peach asked. "Or just restlessness?"

"A nightmare," he said. No use in keeping that a secret from her, considering she was already well aware of his condition. It wouldn't do anyone any good anyway, keeping her in the dark.

The tips of her lips tugged down into a little frown. "Sorry to here that," she said. "You're sure there's no way you'll be able to go back to sleep?"

"Probably not, no. I figured I'd just for a walk to cool off, then may go to library and get some work done. Or maybe work out. I dunno, something."

"Well why don't you come with me?"

"Huh?"

"And impromptu little session, you could say. We could talk about your nightmare?"

He scowled.

"Or not," she quickly added. Nevertheless, she shrugged and gave a little smile. "But still, I'd like to think I'm better company than an empty library or gym. We could just chat for a little while. I just need to sort through some stuff, so it's not like it'd be inconvenient for me."

An impromptu session? In the middle of the night?

"Why are you even awake so late?" he asked.

"Hah! I'm up early kiddo. I went to sleep at ten last night, and right now it's three, and I've been awake for about an hour…" Peach sighed. "I just got swamped all of the sudden with some assignments, so I need to make some time meet the deadlines. Which you really should do!" She scowled and looked at him. "It's not okay to skimp out on sleep like this. Alas, employers demand what employers demand. Now come on, let's have a little chat."

She kept walking down the hall, and Jaune, with nothing better to do, followed her. All he'd wanted was a distraction of some kind to keep him busy until his team woke up. He'd thought of the library or the gym just as ways to keep his mind busy.

Soon, they settled into Peach's office and he told her about this. She smiled. "Look at you go, Jaune! Those are great ways to reassign attention away from negative thoughts or feelings," she said while laying out some of the papers amid several more stacks, all messily cobbled together on her desk. "There are a lot of ways to refocus. You can exercise, read a book, watch a favorite movie, listen to some of your favorite music, do a hobby. And there's always temperature change, too."

"Temperature change?"

"Yup, get an ice or heat pack and apply that to your body. The shock of the new stimuli will refocus your mind from thinking to physical feeling. Now let me tell you what: it doesn't matter how bad your thoughts are at any moment, if you hop into an ice-cold shower, oh boy, you won't be thinking about anything else.

"Though it all depends on what you do with that opportunity."

"What do you mean?"

Peach stopped flipping through her papers to focus on him fully. As she swiveled around, the chains around her midriff clinked together. He himself sat back on the short sofa.

"I mean, it's all about giving yourself a chance. If you exercise for a while, or read a book, or take a cold shower, you get your mind off of the negative thoughts, but they aren't necessarily dispelled completely. You've just given yourself some breathing room.

"You need to follow up on it by doing something else, something positive that'll fully refocus your brain from negativity so you can get into a better mood and not be dragged right back into that slump by the thoughts.

"You can do that same exercise of thinking about good things that have happened to you lately, or you can watch something funny, or (and this is what I think is the best) you can go talk to someone.

"Engaging in a conversation with someone you like can have a really good impact on keeping you steady."

"Huh… well, I've got my team, and team RWBY."

"As well as Ruby herself, yes?"

"Yeah, Ruby," he said with a smile.

"How did your little outing with her go, by the way?"

"It was great," he said, smile getting a little bit wider.

Peach did not miss that detail.

"You like her a lot, don't you?"

"Yeah…" he trailed off a little and didn't speak anymore. His smile was slightly meek, and he looked down at the floor.

Peach did not miss that detail either.

"Well, Jaune, you can definitely give Ruby a call and I'm sure she'll be willing to spare you some time. You don't even have to tell her the exact reasons for why you're talking out of the blue: you can just ask her to talk."

"Yeah, yeah I can. I do that a lot anyways."

"Oh, I'm sure you do," she said, hiding a smile. "Now if no one's available, you can try out all the other strategies, too. Especially exercise. Exercising gives fantastic benefits to your mental health, makes you a lot happier. I'm not just talking about being happy with your body or whatever, but the physical endorphins that get released that help make you happier."

"Really? Never knew that."

"Yup. I always recommend to my clients that they eat healthy and exercise, but that's a little unnecessary at a school for huntsman and huntresses."

"Yeah, I guess it is." Jaune didn't have anything else to say after that. That part of the conversation had somewhat run its course. Instead, he let his eyes wander, and they fell shortly upon the collection of little 'nick-nacks' as Peach had called them, resting on a small side table.

On a whim, he reached over and took one of them: a slinky. He absentmindedly grabbed either end in his hand and shifted it back and forth.

"So," Peach said, sparking the conversation again, "you told me that you don't have as much problems with sleeping anymore. Why's that?"

"Well, I got my life in control," he said, still idling with the slinky. "I guess that setting everything straight and dealing with a lot of stuff took the load off."

"Oh yeah, real life anxiety definitely puts a damper on your ability to rest easy. What exactly happened?"

"Sorted things out with my team, so that's nice. Got to know Ruby well. I also let go of some stuff, so that was nice."

"What stuff?"

I wanted to leave Beacon. I wanted to run away and return to that hellish life of before.

"Meh, just stuff."

"Don't care to share?"

"Nope."

"Fair enough." She idly tapped her nails against her chains for a few moments, causing some staccato clicks as she thought about what to address next. "Is there anything you do to try and help get to sleep?" she eventually asked.

"Yeah, I have a little diffuser that gives off a strawberry smell. I like it. It helps me relax so I can go to bed."

"Ooh, awesome!" Peach said. "Yeah, aromatherapy can be really helpful for some people. I know that lavender is the classic scent to help people sleep, but if strawberry works for you, that's great. And peppermint's good for waking up or staying focused."

"Huh, maybe I'll try that out."

"It's definitely worth a try, I'd say. And of course, there's always medication as well."

Jaune stopped moving the slinky.

"You aren't on any medication, though, correct?"

"No."

"It's an option though, to be sure. There are a lot of things that just can be resisted through willpower or even therapy, just because of how our mind works. Seeing a psychiatrist and getting a prescription could do you some good."

"I don't want that."

"I figured," Peach said.

He scowled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're just not fully invested in this process yet," she said. "You're holding things back; you're still reserved. Deep down, you're not convinced you need any of this." She looked him in the eye. "And there's absolutely nothing wrong with that. It's totally fair that you aren't going to be spilling your guts out and throwing yourself into the program on day one. Most people are like that. It takes time to ease into. And once you east into it, then opening up about more and maybe seeing a psychiatrist could be options." She tilted her head, and although he knew she was examining him, it didn't quite make his skin crawl like it usually would. Her gaze held no judgement, no scrutiny. "It's just going to be some time."

"Hmph." That was his only reply. He didn't care for medication; only crazy people took meds and he wasn't crazy. Besides, there was no telling what it could do to him. There were tons of freaks in the wasteland who got destroyed by whatever concoction of chems they shoved into themselves.

He threw the slinky back onto the table.

Peach hummed and looked at him for a moment, letting the brittle silence settle. She'd need to perk him up a bit, and there was probably a pretty easy way to do that.

"Hey, why don't you tell me about your day out with Ruby?"

Jaune instantly perked up.

She smiled. Yup, that was it.

* * *

Ruby sat on her bed. It had been a long day— Friday classes always seemed to drag on to be twice the length they actually were. Though it'd started off pretty nice: Jaune had been awake pretty early for some reason, greeting her right at breakfast. It was nice.

Now, he was out training with his team. Weiss was studying on the bunk below her, and her sister was out with Blake, practicing some combo moves.

It was about time she addressed some things.

Before her was a notebook and a pen. It was a technique taught to her by her old counselor back at Signal. He'd recommended that if she ever had anything to tell someone, but it was stressing her out, then she could write it out in the form of a letter. That way, she could make sure that it all came out just the way she wanted it to, without the anxiety of having the person right in front of them.

Also, she could choose in the end, whether she'd actually give it to them.

Even now, she was hesitant. She picked up the pen, shakily. Doing this… it would confirm it. Writing it down, making the words real, making the thoughts real… would confirm it. She wouldn't just be able to deny anymore that it was just random thoughts or fantasies. It was true. She wrote out the first couple words.

 _Dear Jaune,_

The heading. Nice. Easy. Simple.

There was no need for this to be anything more than a nice, friendly letter between friends about things that friends typically do and talk about. Just friends.

She couldn't write that, though. It'd all be lies. She knew the truth. She took a deep breath, held it for a bit, then let it out. She'd seen him do it so many times—all the time, actually—and now it seemed to work a little for her, too. She lowered her pen once more.

 _I like you_.

There it was. Three words. It was pretty simple. But somehow… it wasn't right. It wasn't enough. She scribbled them out. Then, she wrote something different.

 _I love you_.

Yup, that was it. She could feel her heart pounding ridiculously quickly in her chest, and in her head, she felt an uncomfortable pressure. That was how she knew it was true. Her pen lowered again, and she wrote out the letter in its entirety.

 _I don't know why I've been trying to ignore it for a such a long time, but yeah, I love you. Well, I'm pretty sure I do, I dunno. I think I do. I'm only fifteen, so maybe I'm just being stupid and I don't know what I'm talking about. I don't care though. I don't care at all. It was what I wanted to tell you back then, when you were about to leave. I almost said it, but then I stopped myself because I was too scared about actually saying it especially right then. I was just really afraid. I still am._

 _I've known ever since you were there to help me when I really found out my friends from Signal were all crap. I knew right then, right there. I knew it. All of the sudden, it just hit me. Sitting with you, listening to that song, having you so close to me, helping me out when I needed you. Right then, I knew it. I think I'd been feeling it for a while maybe, I'm not sure. Like I said I really don't have any idea what I'm talking about, haha._

 _But I know that I really like being with you and I really like who you are and I really like how you make me feel. And I think that means I love you. I want to be with you a lot. I feel different about you than I do for anybody else I know. Like, I love Yang, Blake, Weiss, my dad, my dog, Beacon. I love all that too. But you make me feel really special. I think about you in a different way, you know? I don't think about anybody else the way I think about you. You make me smile just by being there, and I get all funny feeling in my chest and my tummy whenever you're around and whenever I think about being with you._

 _I had a lot of fun on our date. I know you don't think it was a date, and I've been telling everybody it wasn't one, but deep down I want to think that it was. And I want to go on a bunch more dates with you too. That'd make me really happy._

 _And all of that makes me pretty sure I love you._

Ruby let out a shaky breath and finished writing. Her hands were quivering ever so slightly, and her heart was still beating faster than a machine gun could fire, but something inside her felt so incredibly awesome. She smiled. She smiled wide.

It was true. It was all true, all of that. And just thinking about it made her happy. Now, she could give this to him—

She froze. Her smile dropped. A feeling in her chest clenched uncomfortable. She couldn't even breathe at all. Oh god was she having a panic attack!?

No, no she was fine… she hadn't had one of those in almost a year, though she used to have them all the time. The pills she took every morning saw to that.

She shook her head and focused on breathing, in and out, in and out. Right, she was good… just freaked out for a moment there.

For a good damn reason, she freaked out! Actually _give_ this to him!? That was crazy!

Or… was it?

Yang would absolutely tell her to go for it, but Yang was like that, taking risks and doing stupid stuff for the big payoff. This though… the risk was huge. It would change everything.

Yeah, it could change everything, but for the better. It could get you everything you want, wouldn't it? You could just hand it to him and run away, let him read it and only come back after a while. Heck, you didn't even have to give it right to him. You could give it to Yang or Weiss and have them pass it along, or to one of his teammates.

She stared down at the letter. Yeah, she could go down right now and hand it over to Weiss. If she pleaded enough, then she could probably convince her to go deliver it to Jaune.

She tore the paper out of the notebook and stared at it. The letter shuddered in her shaky grip.

She could do it. She could do it right now. She could really make everything come true.

Or she could ruin it all.

She could hand it to him, and he'd be disgusted. No, he wouldn't do that…

No, but he could reject you. He could be into someone older, someone prettier, someone cooler. There were a ton of girls like that at Beacon. And then what? Awkward couldn't even begin to describe what it would be like after that. Everything would fall apart, and she wouldn't have a boyfriend—she wouldn't even have a friend.

She'd have nothing.

Ruby tore the letter to pieces.

In a moment, that was it. She sat there alone on her bed, breathing heavily, clutching ribbons of ripped paper. The possibility was gone. There was no way she'd be writing something like that again, not anytime soon.

It took her a moment to collect herself, but when she did, she hopped off her bunk and threw the papers into the trash can in their room. Weiss glanced over, before returning back to her book. She was utterly unaware of the turmoil that had just ensued right beside her.

Ruby stood in the middle of the room, not really sure what to do after that. How the heck could she be sure of anything right now?

The door slammed open, knocking her out her thoughts and making her squawk in surprise. Yang barreled into the room, red-faced from running and smiling like a lunatic.

"Guys! Guys! Awesome news! They finally finished repairing the pool!"

Oh yeah, Ruby had heard about that. Beacon had a pretty big pool complex, but a semblance gone wild had forced it to close down at the beginning of the first quarter. Yang had been particularly put down by that, considering how much she normally loved swimming and showing off.

"So come on, we all gotta go! We have to! Like, right now before another idiot ruins it again!"

Meh. Ruby had never liked swimming all that much, finding it tiresome before anything else. She much preferred running and other land-based exercise. Besides, swim suits could be really ridiculous—

Her eyes widened. She looked at the trash can wherein her ripped letter lay. That… that had been a failure… but there's more than one way to skin a cat, isn't there?

"Yang, that's a great idea!"

* * *

Jaune neither knew how to swim nor had any wish to learn.

"There was no water where I grew up," he told Ren. The two of them were sitting out by the poolside. Ren wore bathing trunks, while Jaune wore both trunks and a swimshirt.

He didn't want people to see his chest. It was bad enough as it was, with several scars visible on his arms and legs that were normally hidden by his longer clothes. Like the scar on his eye, he didn't much care for any of those being seen… but his chest? No thank you.

"So I never learned how to swim," he continued. "And none of the water around wherever I went was ever good for swimming. It all just had monsters and radiation, not exactly a winning combo."

Ren nodded agreement. "I can't imagine swimming with Grimm is pleasant."

Well, mirelurks, but close enough.

"And this radiation you talk about really sounds terrible. I'd hate having to live with it."

"Yeah, I did too."

He sighed and stretched back onto the long pool chair. It was cheap and plastic, but fairly comfortable nonetheless. The most important thing was it allowed him to bask in the nice, weekend sun. It was pretty nice. The day had been pretty nice so far, all in all. His session with Peach earlier had been amiable, even a little enjoyable if he dared to admit it.

In front of them stretched a massive pool, fit for a sporting event. Several other students were milling around, swimming or lounging like he was. Idle chatter mixed with splashing and created a distinct background noise. He liked it.

For the moment, it was just he and Ren out by the poolside. What was causing the girls to take longer, he didn't know; but girls always seem to take longer in the bathroom. Whatever, he'd have fun just relaxing here, chatting with his friends and enjoying the sun—

"CANNONBALL!"

A tell-tale pink blur shot up high into the air and came rocketing back down to Earth, splashing into the pool and sending up a massive spray of water. As the impact zone had been directly in front of him, Jaune was promptly drenched.

He scowled and sighed, before chuckling. Nora really was something special… and this really would be fun.

The rest of the girls came out after her. First there was Pyrrha in a conservative two-piece, then Weiss and Blake each in modest one-pieces. Yang, not unexpectedly, was wearing a bikini, and when Nora hauled herself out of the water, she was too.

Hm, a pretty good view, all in all.

His eyes flashed to Weiss, whom he'd always considered the most attractive girl in Beacon (the most attractive girl he'd ever met, actually). However, he blinked, then looked away soon enough. Strangely, he didn't find her quite as alluring as he had before. To be sure, she was beautiful, but there was just something else…

"Hey, where's Ruby?" he asked Yang as she sauntered close.

"Eh, she was taking forever to get changed so we went on without her. Weird, since it's super easy to put on her swimsuit." Yang shrugged, and Jaune had to spare no small amount of effort on keeping his eyes firmly focused on her face. "But meh, she'll catch up." She smiled and suddenly darted to the side, yelling out a cannonball of her own as she leapt into the pool. Nora cheered and followed after her—though this time, she was hauling Ren beside her.

Weiss and Pyrrha took a far more measured approach. They waded into the shallow end, up until the water reached as high as their midriffs, then leaned beside the wall and kept talking. Blake didn't get in the water at all, instead picking out a secluded pool chair and stretching out on it, enjoying the sun as much as he was, perhaps more.

He closed his eyes, sighed and leaned back. This was nice. He draped one arm over his face to keep the sun out of his eyes, for it pried against his retinas even through the closed lids. He could fall asleep like this. He'd put on sunscreen, so he shouldn't burn… probably. So many years underground didn't exactly help one out against the sun, even with the additional UV screenings they got. Nevertheless, he settled back into his chair and prepared to doze off—

"Oh hey Ruby— whoah what the heck!?"

It was Yang who'd spoken, first in her usual tone and then in a tone of utter shock. It was enough to make Jaune open his eyes again and sit up. He looked around for a moment and glanced this way and that, before his eyes finally settled upon Ruby Rose. When they did, his jaw dropped.

Holy shit.

She was—

Well, I mean—

She—

Erk—

"Hey Jaune." She smiled and waved, somewhat timidly. She kept her arms folded in front of her, meekly. She seemed a little uncomfortable, actually.

Perhaps that was because she was wearing a bikini.

Yang? Nora? Absolutely he'd expect them to wear something like that… but Ruby? No, he struck her as a one-piece kind of girl, plus maybe wearing her towel around a lot because she still felt a little shy.

Nope. Her toned muscles shone fully in the gleaming sunlight, lithe arms and legs. Her legs. They were… well he found them to be very nice. But her chest… he hadn't quite expected them to look like that, but he'd only ever seen her with full clothing on so—

Oh Jesus Christ and everything that is holy, he was staring.

Instantly, he snapped his mouth shut with an audible click and whipped his head away, looking into the far distance. Far, far distance. Far away. Not here. He…

How!?

Why, why would… Ruby never struck him as the sort to… to wear that! To… look like that…

His breath caught. He looked down at his lap. Horror cracked through him as he realize he was about to be faced by a distinctly male issue.

Oh no.

Oh dear god no.

Frantically, he snatched up his towel, still folded on the ground beside him, and threw it on his lap. Nope. Nope he would not be dealing with none of that, nuh-uh, no siree.

"Ruby, what the…?" Yang was treading water, but she still quickly threw her soaked hair out of her face, then rubbed her eyes and looked again. "When did you get a bikini?"

"Uh, just yesterday," Ruby said. Her voice was a little quieter than normal. Out of his periphery, he saw her self-consciously bring her arms up to cross and cover her chest. "I, uh, needed to get something to wear for today, you know?"

"What's wrong with your old swimsuit? The one-piece?"

"Oh, it's too small for me now."

"We bought it over the break a few weeks ago!"

"Oh, well, it, err, it ripped." She chuckled nervously. "Yeah, it ripped so I went and bought a new one."

"I though you told me you were just going out to buy a game or something?"

"Well, um, I did that too."

"Well what game did you buy?"

"Uhh… I looked at the store, but didn't find anything cool, so I, uh, just wound up getting the bikini instead." Ruby shrugged. "Funny, huh? Anyway, it's all cool now so whatever!" Ruby quickly shuffled away from the part of the pool where her sister was, heading towards Jaune.

He stiffened as she neared. In more ways than one.

He swallowed and continued looking into the distance, as if he was unaware of Ruby approaching. He wanted to be unaware of her. For some reason, he felt hotter, even hotter than he had before under the sun.

"Hey Jaune," Ruby said again when she finally got close to him. She skittishly fidgeted where she stood. "So… nice day out, right?"

"Yes."

"Pretty sunny."

"Yup."

"Are you getting sunburnt?"

"Nope."

"Really? You're pretty red, especially your face."

"It's nothing."

Ruby brought up on hand to her mouth and gnawed on the tips of her fingers for a few seconds, looking away from him. This continued for an achingly long minute, during which Jaune put all of his mental effort into looking away, not at her.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

Pay attention to anything else, anything. The horizon, just stare straight ahead at the horizon.

"So, do you like swimming?" she eventually asked.

"I can't swim."

"Oh… you wanna learn? I could try teaching you a bit."

He liked that idea. A lot. He glanced back down to his lap, thank god fully covered now by his towel. Hmph, he liked the idea a little too much.

"No thanks, I'd rather just sit and enjoy the sun."

"Oh… okay." She turned away and gripped herself tighter with her arms. As if trying to hide despite the lack of cover. "I'll just, uh… go now."

And she did. She walked past him, then slipped into the pool beside Pyrrha and Weiss. She didn't engage in the conversation, though, just wading there beside them, silent.

Ren hauled himself out of the pool and came back to Jaune, sitting down once more on the poolchair beside him. He picked up his water bottle and took a draw from it, and after putting it back down, he glanced at Jaune and the towel he'd draped over himself. He looked at it for a second, then masculine experience granted him a realization.

He look Jaune in the eye, one eyebrow raised.

"Shut up!" Jaune snapped.

"I didn't say anything."

"No, but you were thinking something! You were definitely thinking, so shut up in your head."

Ren looked at him for a moment longer, before shrugging and walking back to the pool. Jaune was certain he'd seen a little smirk on that bastard's face. He scowled and slumped over in his chair, fallen now into a decidedly foul mood.

This… he hadn't expected this.

Well, as time wore on, things normalized. The need for the towel on his lap went away, though he kept it in place just in case. Eventually, Ruby became less skittish, getting into a splash fight with her sister. Blake was, after much coaxing, persuaded to come into the pool herself. After some time, even Jaune joined them in the shallow end where he could safely stand, after Nora pestered him relentlessly about it.

Another hour wore by and things became fun. The bizarre awkwardness that had characterized the beginning of their pool-day dissipated, and he was able to relax a little. However, he pointedly continued to avoid looking at Ruby. He didn't talk to her a single time for the rest of the pool outing. And by the time it was over and they'd called it a day, he was left hopelessly confused and still feeling a little strange.

* * *

"Oh, uh, hey Ruby," he said.

"Oh, uh, hey Jaune," she said.

It was Sunday. They hadn't spoken since the pool. He didn't like that, the lingering feeling of unease that had been summoned. Deep down, he knew somewhere that things were happening, but never anywhere near the surface did such awareness rise. He wouldn't let it.

"I saw you out here and figured I'd come say hi," he said. It was true, that he'd seen her up on the rooftop, the very same place they'd sat together back in the last quarter. It was visible just from his window. However, he wanted to do a bit more than say hi. He held a bottle in one of his hands.

I want to try and fix things. I don't like feeling like this, feeling weird and apart from you. I'm not totally sure why, but both of us are being really awkward, and I don't want that to be the case.

He didn't say these things to her, of course; he just sat down beside her on the ledge, each of them looking at the falling sun. It was beautiful, especially since the orange glow wasn't blocked by the smog as it was back in the wasteland.

Beside him, Ruby just nodded, quiet. Perhaps she said something, but if she had, then he didn't notice it, didn't hear it. He didn't like that.

She didn't like it either. Why didn't she like it? Well, because she'd been a tremendous idiot, that's why. Sheesh, she'd taken her plan right out of some of the cheesy comics she'd used to read, where the femme fatale would seduce the man using her bathing suite wiles. She'd known she hadn't looked good in it, but she'd gone through with it anyway. Idiot. There was no way he'd liked it, of course not! God, he hadn't even looked at her _once_!

Jaune glanced back at her, and for a moment, he recalled how she'd looked the day before, in her bikini. Man, she'd looked _really_ good. He could admit that easily. So had all the other girls, too… but there was something particular about Ruby, too.

Ruby glanced at him, and when she did, he looked away.

She looked away, figuring that the awkwardness was because he's remembering how weird she was yesterday.

Jaune looked off into the distance, figuring that the awkwardness was probably because she'd seen him staring like a creep.

His hand tightened around the bottle he'd been carrying. If there was one thing that could end this, then maybe this could. He'd found it just that morning while going through the old things in his locker. He'd forgotten about it, to be honest, but of course it had been one of the few things to survive the trip here to Remnant. Heck, it'd managed to survive a nuclear war and the hellish centuries after it.

"Want to try some of this?" he asked, holding up the bottle for her to see.

Ruby squinted and peered at the unfamiliar brand label. "Nuka Cola?"

"Yeah, it's a type of soda back from where I come from. The only kind that was ever made there. Can't get it anywhere here."

Ruby's mouth widened into a smile. "Really?" She leaned over, staring through the glass at the brown liquid within.

Heh, he knew it. Just leave it to a sugary drink to knock Ruby back to normal. Hopefully, this moment would be enough to get things back into shape… though he wasn't so sure what had put them out of whack in the first place.

"Here, let me get it," he said. He pried off the cap, resulting in a hiss of escaping air that hadn't been outside the bottle in two hundred years. He brought it up to his nose and took a sniff, enjoying for the last time the smell of his favorite drink. Habitually, he pocketed the valuable bottlecap.

This really would be the last, wouldn't it? This was the only bottle he had on him, and there was no way he'd ever be able to get more, considering this stuff had only ever been manufactured in a different universe. This would be the last time he ever tasted it, and he'd be giving half of it away to someone else.

He glanced at Ruby, saw the happy look on her face.

Heh, that was well worth the price of half a bottle of pop.

"Here, try it. It tastes good and has a bit of a kick." The 'kick' was due to the radiation that had seeped in over the years, but he left that part out. At most, she'd get a single rad, which was so far away from harmful that she wouldn't feel a thing. He glanced at his pip-boy, seeing his own measure to be 25 rads. Again, far from harmful, and he still kept a pack of radaway just in case. Yeah, this was no problem.

Ruby grabbed the soda and took a sip. Immediately, her eyes widened and she stared down at the bottle. For a moment, Jaune feared that she didn't like it, but the massive smile on her face, coupled with her immediate act of taking a full swig, erased that fear.

"This is so good!" she said. "Like, really good! Haven't tasted anything like it!"

"Yeah, it's based all on stuff from back home, so I guess you wouldn't."

"Hah, you keep saying the wasteland was terrible, but this is pretty great! We'll have to go to sometime just for this!"

Yeah, that won't be happening. Ever.

"Maybe," he said.

Ruby took another drink, then smacked her lips together in satisfaction. She passed the bottle back to him, and he appreciatively nodded and took a drink of his own. The familiar and delicious taste flowed into his mouth, and he loved it, he really did. However, the taste was so familiar to him, having grown up drinking it constantly, that he was able to detect something slightly off. Nuka Cola had been made famous for its use of a particular blend of fruits, but this one was slightly off, ever so slightly off.

He handed it back to Ruby, who took another sip and passed it back. This time, he focused again on the odd taste. It was still great… but there was a strangely distinct taste of… strawberry?

He gave it back to Ruby, and this time when she took a sip, he watched her do it, and this time, he noticed a slight gleam on her lips. It was nothing much, hardly noticeable unless you looked, but it was there. It hadn't been there before.

"Ruby, do you have something on your lips?" he asked.

She swallowed the last of her sip and smiled. "Yeah I do. Yang went shopping earlier today with Weiss for some makeup, and she got me some cool strawberry lip gloss."

For a moment, Jaune couldn't breathe.

"I like the taste of it," Ruby said.

Yeah, I do too.

"Here, want some more?" she asked, passing the bottle back to him.

Strawberry.

"No, no that's alright, you can finish it."

"You sure?"

"Absolutely."

"Well if you say so," Ruby said. She tilted the bottle back and finished off the last of the drink, sighing with satisfaction as she did. He watched her throat, saw how it pulsed as she swallowed. She closed her eyes and let a lazily little smile rest on her face. The orange glow of the falling sun cast in her a particularly pretty light at that moment.

Jaune could do nothing but stare.

When she finally opened her eyes again, he reacted fast enough to glance away. She set the bottle down, and Ruby started chatting to him idly about the day. It was easy enough for him to limp along and try to keep up with the conversation. After a few minutes, Ruby thanked him for the drink and headed back to her room, citing the need to wake up early for Monday.

Then there he was, alone. Mission accomplished: make things less awkward. Well, the mission had been accomplished in theory. Ruby seemed to have been knocked out of her spell and the status quo _seemed_ to have been reinstated. However, it seems he'd traded an open awkwardness with a more personal kind.

He looked down at the bottle she'd left behind. Slowly, he picked it up, then stared at the lip of it. He ran the tip of one finger around the mouth of the bottle, collecting what residue remained. Then he stuck that finger in his mouth.

Strawberry. He tasted strawberry. Her. He was tasting her right now, and the gloss on her lips.

Holy shit.

He shook his head and put the bottle down, breathing hard all of the sudden.

 _Do you love her?_

 _What!?_

 _Do you love her?_

That had been a long time ago. Back when he was still in the vault, still a little kid, before even the GOAT. Amata had cornered him and gotten him to confess about his crush on Christine Kendall. Then she'd asked him:

 _Do you love her_.

That memory, it was becoming alive once more, brought up by a mind overactive and overeager to make some things become real.

 _Do you love her?_

 _What!?_

 _Do you love her?_

 _W-what do you mean?_

 _Silly, I think it's pretty obvious what I mean. Do you love her?_

 _I-I don't know…_

 _How do you not know?_

 _I don't even know what love is! I'm a kid! I dunnno! I can't say! I don't know if I'm in love!_

 _Fine then, are you in like?_

 _Like?_

 _Yeah, do you like her? Are you in like at least?_

 _Well, I think so…_

Jaune stared down at the bottle. Was he… in like? No, no that's not right. Like isn't the right word here. Like isn't the right word at all—

He grunted and hurled the bottle with all his might. With his powerful aura, it sped out into the distance, doomed to fall somewhere in the Emerald Forest. Gone.

He shook his head. Stupid thoughts and stupid dreams and stupid words. She was his friend, and that was where things ended.

* * *

 **Oh boy, will Jaune ever be able to solve his latent emotional issues? Perhaps.**

 **I was actually a little uncomfortable writing this, considering Ruby's only 15 and Jaune's just 17 yet I had to describe some of their more intimate physicality. But even as young as 15 things are definitely sexually charged. Hell, that's right when it all starts! I'm still just 18, so I recall it well. I tried to be a bit more vague and let things be assumed, so I think it works out.**

 **Glad to see that there was a good reception to Peach last time. Be sure, she'll be getting an important role in the story from now on, being the main character's therapist and all. I was actually a volunteer working with therapists at a youth counseling center, so it's pretty fun to implement everything I learned there in my writing. Everything that Peach says is based off of legit methods and concepts I learned with the therapists. Even her office is based on the ones I worked at; like, there's nothing physically in between her and the client, and she's got toys out to busy yourself with while talking.**

 **Anyhow, everyone's encouraged to review and question as they please. Come back sometime soon for a new chapter. Next time, we'll be getting an update on a weapon long in the making, and Peach is gonna lay down the law.**


	23. Chapter 23

**Oh my, two months. I bet you thought this was dead, didn't you? Well, I was pretty busy for about a month and half there, distracted totally by another project. As such, my ability to work on this was put on hold. I finished my other obligations a few weeks ago, and I've just been enjoying summer since then. Anyways, I'm back now, and that's what counts, right? Better late than never, I suppose.**

 **I've also realized that romantic angst and therapy sessions aren't exactly the most adventurous scenarios. After a few complaints, I've thought it over and changed the category from 'romance/adventure' to 'romance/hurt/comfort' just to fit better. I feel that, when viewing the story in its totality, then one can definitely classify it as an adventure, but we haven't really completed it yet, have we?**

 **Anyway, let's get back to it.**

* * *

"Ack!"

"Be careful!"

Jaune winced and blew on his thumb, the tip of which had been slightly scalded by a stray electric spark. He put it in his mouth to let the saliva soothe the pain, smiling as he did so. The connection had sparked to life, after all, marking a crucial step in their project's advancement.

"You okay?" Ruby asked. She leaned across the workshop table, abandoning the tools before her to check in on him.

He only chuckled and waved his hand, letting his thumb cool off. "Yeah, I'm alright. Just caught me by surprise. Would have been a lot nastier without aura, but I'll be fine in a bit." He looked back down at the work he'd now completed. "Pretty sure we're getting close to done."

He'd just successfully wired up his tesla coil to an electric dust converter. Now, the coil could be powered, and that electric energy could then be channeled through the barrel attachment of mirrors and fractals they were constructing. It'd be a far cry from the powerful Tesla Cannon that had been Enclave's Bane, but it'd still be formidable nonetheless. The original had been able to recreate all the power of a lightning blast straight from the heavens, ripping apart an enemy in power armor with ease. This one, however, was smaller and less powerful, given the fact it was powered by the far weaker and less efficient electric dust, rather than nuclear fission. Still, it would be able to channel bolts of electricity down through Metal Blaster's old tube and shoot out a crack of electricity formidable in its own right.

"Man… a lightning rifle," Ruby said. The name had been one of her own choosing, which he couldn't disagree with. "I've read articles about prototypes and stuff, but I never thought I'd actually get to see one in person, let alone work on it. This tech you've got is nuts!"

Well, it's from a different universe, so there's that.

"Yeah, we had some real innovators back home. Had to, given how dangerous it was."

Ruby let out a long whistle as she examined the complex array of mirrors and capacitors that ran down the rifle's barrel. "This stuff can give even Atlas a run for their money, and that's really saying something."

She pieced the barrel together and set it down. Then she checked the time on her scroll.

"You've got your appointment at noon, right?" she asked.

"Yup… wait, what was time is now?"

"Eleven-thirty."

"Hm, better get going."

He started diffusing the potentially dangerous aspects of the projects, dismantling it for now so that they could get back to work on it later. Probably wouldn't be able to work on any more of it today, considering the armory was always more full on the weekends, when people had greater free time to work on their beloved weapons. That's why he and Ruby woke up early to beat the rush, getting there just after breakfast.

"We're really close," Ruby said. "Like, _really_ close. We should have it done by the end of the semester."

"Hopefully," he said, packing it all away into his bag, Ruby handing him the pieces she's just been working on. "And it's all thanks to you."

She blushed. "It's nothing big…"

"It really is," he said. "I had no idea how to work a lot of this equipment, and the gap between how things worked back home and how they work here was so big… I'd have been a goner if you hadn't been there to teach it all to me." He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Thank you."

Ruby turned away and chuckled stiffly. "Haha… no biggy." She pushed off her stool, keen to get him to stop touching her; it made her uncomfortable, for him to touch her like that. Not because she didn't like, but because she _really_ liked it. The skin were his fingers had been seemed to tingle.

"And you know… I've been thinking something over," Jaune said. "About names, you know?"

"Hm?"

"Like, all these weapons have names right? Crescent Rose, Crocea Mors, Mysterious Magnum, Ember Celica, on and on and on. Well, this doesn't have a name yet."

Ruby frowned and looked at the parts lying in the bag. "No, I guess it doesn't."

"Well, I was laying bed last night and my thoughts started wandering— you know how that happens sometimes, right? Just get kept up by random stuff that pops in your head for no reason?"

"Yep I know."

"Well, I started thinking that this needed a name, and I think I figured it out." He smiled wide. "I think it's kinda clever, if I do say so myself."

"Do you so say yourself?"

"I do."

She giggled. "Alright then, cough it up."

"So, my last name is Arc, right?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well, this is a lightning rifle running on electricity, and electricity travels in arcs, right?"

"Think so, yeah."

"And I thought about how your last name is Rose, and your weapon's name is Crescent Rose, so that got me thinking maybe I could sorta base the name of this off of that, too."

She blushed a little. In huntsman culture, naming one's weapon was quite an intimate and personal process, since the weapon required so much work on the wielder's part, both for making it and then mastering it. That he was taking direct inspiration from her? Well, it was flattering.

"And then I thought a bit more about how much you've helped make this, so I figured I should commemorate you a bit with the name."

"O-oh? Really?"

"Yeah, so I sorta want to make the name something with a bit out a shoutout to you. Right, I was thinking about Crescent Rose's name, and I just thought of 'crimson' because, you know, it sorta sounds a bit like crescent and it's red, and you're all about red."

"I am, yup."

"So how about this: _Crimson Arc_." He placed the last piece of the rifle into the bag and zipped it up. "How do you think that sounds?"

Wow.

For a moment, she wasn't exactly able to formulate words. Having his weapon's name be so directly related to her like that? He probably didn't understand, not being fully assimilated into the huntsman culture… but that was a surprisingly intimate act. Your weapon was your life, as you relied on it for your job and your survival. You put innumerable hours into working with it, caring for it, learning with it. It was a particular bond, the bond of a huntsman and his weapons. Anyone else who heard the reasoning behind the name would think—

Well, they'd think she must be pretty special to him.

She smiled.

"I love it."

* * *

He opened the office door just as the clock struck twelve. Peach smiled and said hello, a greeting he easily returned. He passed off the notebook she'd given him, and she quickly opened it and flipped through the pages.

He picked up the slinky from the knick-knack table and slumped down into the sofa. The slinky compressed and extended in his grip as Peach spent a minute scanning that week's entries of positive affirmations. She smiled and nodded, then closed the notebook and let it sit on her desk.

"Nice, Jaune, nice. You know, I actually want to start this session off with an activity," she said. She reached into her desk and pulled out a small bag of candy: strawberry-flavored gummies. The vibrant, childish sweets seemed a little out of place, carried in her hands tipped with pitch-black nails, matching the rest of her outfit. She tore it open and pulled one of them out, passing it between her charcoal lips and chewing it down.

"These are pretty good," she said. "You'd like them." She stood up and strode across the room, placing the bag on the table of knick-knacks against the wall. She walked back and sat down, the chain wrapped around her midriff clinking as she settled once more. "Could you go stand on that side of the room there?" She pointed to the wall opposite the one where the candy was now placed.

He shrugged and got up, leaving his favored slinky back on the couch. He reached the wall and leaned his back again it, looking at Peach for further instruction.

"Alright, so I want you to imagine you're not you for right now. Like, your someone else _talking_ to you. So you're basically gonna be in third person. The goal of this exercise is to get the bag of candy." She pointed across the room to the prize. "However, the only way for you to get there is to give yourself compliments. One compliment equals on step."

Huh? As usual, Peach continued to have him do things that he never expected to do in therapy. He'd figured it would just be lying back on a sofa, talking about his mom or something, not playing games. Whatever, this could go by pretty quickly if he just took really long strides—

"And they have to be normal sized steps," Peach added, leveling a look on him that said she knew _exactly_ what he'd been thinking.

Damn.

"So basically, I want you to say stuff to yourself that's nice as you advance across the room and get the prize." She cleared her throat. "Here's an example: Jaune, you're a pretty cool guy." She clapped her hands together and smiled. "Not so hard, okay?"

"Okay," he said with a sigh. This was going to be easy. I mean, just give himself compliments? How hard could that be?

He opened his mouth to speak. "Jaune, you are…" he said, trailing off, unable to finish the sentence.

His mind was blank. Nothing came to him, nothing at all. It felt as if a gust of wind had blown into his skull, brushed out any other thoughts, left emptiness only. There was inactivity.

"I… Jaune, you are…" He glanced at Peach, who only raised one eyebrow, beckoning him to finish on his own. He looked down at his feet, unable to move them.

A minute dragged by.

Another minute more.

There was just… nothing he could say, was there? What did other people say about him? They said… did they ever say things?

What do other people say to me, to be nice? Do they? They must… do I listen? I don't know…

Suddenly, a recent quip from Miss Goodwitch struck him, and a simple sentence popped into his mind.

"Jaune, you do good job handling Crocea Mors." Goodwitch had told him it was definitely a harder weapon to master, but he wielded it with excellence. A light smile twisted up onto his face, and he took one step forward.

"Good, good," Peach praised, "now let's get another one."

A minute more passed in silence.

"Jaune… you… you…"

Another minute, before another brief epiphany; he recalled his time earlier that day with Ruby.

"Jaune, you're pretty good at making and fixing guns," he said, taking another step. Another minute, another step, another minute, another step.

Eventually, he got across the room. Every compliment had come hesitantly, and not without struggle. None were of his own making, being ones he remembered from others. They were all about his abilities or his looks.

He triumphantly picked up the bag of gummies and smiled, falling back into his couch and popping a few of the little candies into his mouth. His smile grew a bit more as their taste yielded to him.

"Man I love strawberry stuff," he told Peach after taking his first swallow. "I never had any of it growing up, but ever since Ruby introduced me to it, can't get enough." He took another handful of sweets in his mouth, feeling pretty good about things.

Peach smiled a little bit as she watched him. He was happy. That was nice. He was in a good mood right now… so what comes next will be cushioned a little bit.

"So Jaune, I would like to talk a little bit about that exercise you just did," she said.

"Hm? What about it?"

"Well, the point was to try and get you to think over some good things about yourself. A lot of people have a hard time with compliments, especially giving them to themselves," Peach said. "You took twenty minutes. That's a while."

"Hey, I'm not an asshole," Jaune replied with a shrug. "I don't go around thinking about how great I am usually."

"Yes that's good, though I also think that there's some room for improvement."

"Is there? What, am I supposed to start writing love letters to myself or something?" he asked with a chuckle.

The laughter died when he saw the serious look on Peach's face.

"Jaune, you've been seeing me for several weeks now, and I think that we've gotten fairly comfortable, no?"

"It's not bad," he said.

Peach nodded. "Right, well I think it's time we pushed that comfort a little bit."

Jaune's muscles tensed.

"I'm not talking about anything severe, just that maybe it's time we take this process a bit more seriously from now on. Remember a couple weeks ago, when I noted that you haven't committed to this yet?" She held his gaze and didn't let go. "I think it's time we change that, don't you?"

Jaune scowled. "What do you mean?"

"I mean recognizing some of the uncomfortable things you want to avoid."

"Uncomfortable things? Like what?"

"Like how you very much hate yourself."

Jaune did not move, nowhere, not in the slightest.

"All of your compliments just now came only with a lot of effort, and you hardly sounded genuine while listing them off." Peach's eyes were unwavering. "And I doubt you thought up most of those on your own."

She was right, and he knew that.

She knew it too.

"Jaune, everything I've seen from you, ever since I first got your file, has pointed to self-esteem so low it's more apt to classify it as self-hate. You actively despise yourself, more than anyone else alive. Don't you?"

He continued to hold her gaze, saying nothing.

"Am I wrong?" she asked.

He broke the stare, eyes flicking desperately toward the clock mounted on the wall. It told him that a half hour remained. His eyes flicked back.

"You rebuff every attempt by others to tell you that you're worth more than just your actions. You've done it enough times here with me, that I can only imagine you do it with everyone else in your life, don't you?"

Again, his eyes flicked towards the clock. Not so much as a minute had passed. He brought his eyes back to hers, but was unable to keep level with her gaze. He focused on the choker around her neck, instead.

"You often feel 'fake' don't you? You feel like you don't deserve things. Most of all, you feel like you don't even _deserve_ to get better, and that's one of the things holding you back. Am I right?"

Again, his eyes flicked to the clock. Only a single, grueling minute had passed. When his vision flashed back, it fell to the floor, unable to look at Peach in the slightest.

"You want to be happy, you really do. But something inside you keeps saying that you shouldn't be happy, that you should be sad, or miserable, or upset. It's the same thing that gives you nightmares. Am I right?"

Jaune's eyes flicked to the clock again—

"You can leave whenever you want," Peach said. "I see how you're looking at the clock over and over."

He swallowed.

"I can't force you to stay here. Everything here is done with your consent, so yes, you could leave whenever you want. Before you do, however, you need to ask yourself: why?

"Why do I want to leave?"

She looked at him, and he only looked at the floor.

"Is it because I'm right?" Peach asked. "Is it because you know I'm telling the truth, and it's hard for you to confront it out here in the open? Much more difficult to cope with such an intimate, painful process when it's being exposed instead of repressed.

"So, am I right?"

Jaune considered taking her up on her word. Leaving. He could just get up out of this office and walk out the door and never talk to her again.

But then what would his friends say?

More importantly, what would _he_ say? When he woke up in the middle of the night, panting and sweaty, would he think to himself and curse himself and say, 'god damn it, I could have done something about all this'?

Slowly, he nodded.

"What am I right about?" Peach asked.

His throat was tight, constricted. His eyes stung, and no small measure of control was required to maintain his own composure while he finally spoke: "Everything."

Peach hummed and leaned back in her seat. "You're a troubled young man, Jaune. And the only thing I want is to help you get over those troubles. Trust me, I understand what you're facing—"

"Do you really?" he snapped at here, suddenly the taut control he'd had over himself cutting off and falling apart with a snarl and a sneer. "Do you really think you have any idea what I've been through? Just because you read about it in some books or seen some other people who are just as crazy as I am?"

Peach did not so much as blink as she held his gaze once more, unflinching, unfazed. Her black lips moved, and she spoke:

"In order to graduate from Beacon, you need to pass a final mission. It's supposed to be more difficult and more demanding, in terms of logistics, time, scale, quantity and quality of Grimm faced.

"I led my team out to a town on the Vale frontier. We were supposed to help protect it from a large Grimm incursion spotted in the area. We were assigned to advance scouting duty, actively hunting through the wilderness, looking for Grimm, trying to sight the main horde and report back to make sure defenses would be prepped.

"Well, night had fallen. Aerial reconnaissance was grounded for the weather. We made camp and prepared to hold out until the morning, when we'd head back to town.

"But that was when the Grimm came.

"We'd done everything we were supposed to do. No fire. No food. No noise. Covered our scent with aroma traps. Every precaution. That didn't matter. In life, you can do everything perfect, and there's still no guarantee things will go your way.

"The next day, I made it back to the town. I was covered in blood. As you know, Grimm blood is black and dissolves while it's still wet. Well, this blood was brown and dry. Some of it was mine. Some of it was my team's. I still remember the taste and smell of iron.

"So when I finally graduated Beacon academy, the school of my dreams, my greatest goal since I was a little girl, I had to walk up on the stage alone. Normally, a full team would walk up there together.

"I couldn't do anything for the next few months. I stayed in my room, hardly talked and hardly ate. All the muscle I'd built in school degraded and wore away. My skin got paler. My weapons got covered in dust. Eventually, my family shipped me off to an intensive inpatient care center. Therapy every day, depression meds. Things cleared up with time, but it took time, and a lot of effort.

"So yes, Jaune, I think I understand what you're going through."

Her eyes did not leave his own. Her voice, her expression, it was all very calm, far calmer than Peach ever usually was.

Jaune felt incredibly small, and a little cold.

"If you work with me, then you can get through this. I can personally attest that it gets better, that it _will_ get better, but only if you really commit. You want that, don't you? You want things to get better?"

He nodded.

She smiled. "Then just work with me. It'll be hard, but I can tell that you're a really, really strong person. You've already made it this far, even after everything. You can finish it. There's a lot more out there for you."

"You… you really think so?"

"I know so." She shrugged. "I mean, I got over it."

He winced and shook his head. "There are a lot of things…"

"Well you and I have a lot of time, as much time as we need," Peach said, her little smile growing just a bit more. "And I can tell you're the kind of person who can stand up to this."

"His hands balled into fists. "I have my friends here… I want to settle. I want to be happy."

"I know that," Peach said, "and to do that, you've got to really double down and focus on this, okay? That means trusting me, okay? You trust me, don't you?"

He looked up at her face for the first time, saw the kindly smile there, remembered the help she'd already given him. It was tantalizing, the thought of all the help he could yet receive from her.

"The only thing holding you back right now are forces within yourself," Peach said. "That's the only thing you need to deal with. Here in Beacon, you're safe. As long as you're here, and as long as you're with me, you're in a safe space where you can focus on yourself. You can recover, from whatever it is that happened to you.

"But you're going to have to commit." Peach's smile faded, face becoming more serious. "It'll be hard, and it'll be painful, to dredge up everything within yourself. I know that."

And she really did, didn't she?

"You just need to get serious about this, Jaune. That doesn't mean a total change from how things have been, though. We'll still go at your pace, but I'll push you to open up about the things that haunt you, okay? We'll just be getting more intensive with the same sort of stuff."

He looked back down at the floor. It was only then, as the quiet settled, that he realized his lips _really_ hurt. He'd been biting down on the inside of his mouth quite hard.

Eventually, he nodded.

"Right then. Like I said: I'll never force you to talk or do something. I'll push, but I won't, can't, force. This is all about you, after all. But I really want you to start pushing yourself, alright? To do better both by yourself, and by your friends."

His head perked up.

"That's right. By focusing on this, you'll be doing your friends a lot of good too. They won't worry about you so much if you can get better, and they'll be happy to see you better, since they care for you. Not only that, but you'll be better equipped to help them out during times of crisis too."

"Yeah… yeah I will."

"You will," Peach said, smile returning. She swiveled around in her chair, then kicked off the floor to drive herself across the room towards him. She stopped just a few feet in front of him, turned and held out a fist. "Now give me one of these, and we'll call it a deal."

He looked hesitantly at her hand. After some time…

"Okay,'' he whispered, tapping his knuckles against hers.

* * *

"Three days a week now?" Pyrrha asked.

He nodded. Jaune looked down at a pile of papers in his hands.

"Well, whatever you think you need," she said with a smile. She patted his shoulder. "So long as you're working on it." She sat down on the bed beside him. It was technically her own, but both she and Ren's beds, being the bottom bunks, had become unofficial couches for the whole team and any visitors who may come by.

"Peach is nice," Jaune said. "I don't mind seeing her more." He rifled through the papers he'd brought, sighing slightly as he skimmed the stack.

"What's all of that?" Pyrrha asked him. She leaned over to take a peek for herself, saw lists and diagrams.

"Peach said it's all mental health theory," he answered. "Lots of stuff about how people process stress, pressure, emotions, trauma. Lots of stuff on how to deal with that. Just… a lot of _stuff_." He sighed and set it down on his lap. "Basically, just more homework." He chuckled despondently. "Homework for going to therapy… it's practically a whole new class at this point."

"Well, whatever you need to do, do it," Pyrrha said, patting him on the shoulder gently. "We're all proud of how far you've come, Jaune." She giggled. "I mean, you're a world apart already from who you were at the beginning of the school year."

"I suppose…" He cringed, memories of his old actions invading his mind. "I'm sorry…"

"What's done is done, and over." Pyrrha shook her head. "You were in a lot of pain, and I don't blame you—"

"Doesn't make it okay that I did all that," he said.

"No, no it doesn't. But I forgive you. We all do."

She patted his shoulder again.

Jaune shifted a bit closer to her, enjoying very much the feeling of her friendly touch. Enjoying very much the feeling of having her beside him. A true partner.

"It's just that… it was all on purpose," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"It was on purpose. Everything I said and did… I thought it through. I did it because I knew it was the wrong things to do, that it would push you back. I did it because I _knew_ it was mean." He shook his head. "There were other people, some adults and people I had to work with, who I wasn't mean too. Because I could control it. That doesn't mean I was nice to anyone… but I was only really, deeply _mean_ to you all, to everyone who might get close to me. That's what's really messing with me. It was all on purpose."

"Did you talk to Peach about any of this?"

"Yeah, actually. That's why it's still on my mind."

Pyrrha reached her arm around his shoulders and scooted over into a half-hug, which leaned into with reserved enthusiasm. Feeling his friend beside hm… it felt good. It felt very, very good to have a friend with him.

"What's done is done," Pyrrha said. "We've got the whole world ahead of us, and plenty of time to make up. You already have."

"If you say so…"

"I do. And even if you don't believe what I'm saying, at least know that _I_ believe it. Is that enough?"

"Sort of…"

Pyrrha giggled. "You can be a little funny sometimes, Jaune." She let go of him, walked across the room and rooted through her desk. She pulled out a couple of purple cans, which he recognized as a popular brand drink.

"Normally I avoid sweets and the like, but what can I say, _people like grapes_ ," she said, laughing as she repeated the brand jingle. She sat back down on the bed, handed one to him. "Though you like strawberry, right?"

"Yeah, it's my favorite. Though grapes are pretty good, too."

Two snaps and two hisses sounded as they each opened their drinks.

"You use strawberry scent to help fall asleep too, right?"

"Yeah," he answered. He took a sip, immediately flinching. He resisted the urge to cringe at the disgusting, sour taste, instead eyeing his partner as she happily took a full gulp of her own drink, which frankly tasted like something that was a year expired, and felt like it was literal acid with how much it seared his taste buds. She liked this stuff?

He took another sip.

"Pretty good," he said.

"It is, isn't it?" Pyrrha said, happy to see her partner enjoying her favorite drink.

For him, that was worth it.

"But about strawberry…" Pyrrha said, trailing off a little awkwardly.

"What about it? Do you not like it or something? I can turn of the vaporizer if it bothers you."

"Hm? No, no, not at all. I was just wondering: doesn't Ruby really like strawberry too? I think I remember her mentioning that sometime."

"Yeah, yeah she does." His smile was warm. "She loves the stuff. She's actually the one who got me into it."

"You don't say…" Pyrrha smirked coyly, a cute kind of secrecy providing her entertainment.

"Hey, what's with that look on your face?"

You're incredibly easy to read, Jaune, and it's frankly adorable.

"Oh nothing."

"Nothing?"

Heh, definitely something.

"Indeed, nothing."

She shrugged and got back to drinking her soda, while Jaune dismissed his partner's behavior and placed his own can on the ground, resolving to covertly throw it away later when she was out of sight, hoping she would never offer him some more ever again.

But damn, this was nice. He had a partner again! The last time he had someone like this was… well, that would have to be Fawkes. The twins had been great, but Fawkes… the big guy was something special. They would sit around and talk with each other about all sorts of things, well into the night. The super mutant had been curious beyond belief, and always willing to have a good conversation about just about anything. He was a good friend…

"Jaune?" Pyrrha waved her hand in front of his face. "Remnant to Jaune, are you still here?"

"Huh? Wuh?" He shook his head. "Yeah, yeah sorry, just sorta spaced out a bit there."

"You seem to do that a lot."

"Eh, just get lost in thought." He shook his head again, banishing the hazy nostalgia. "Did you say something?"

"Yes: I was wondering whether or not you'll be seeing a psychiatrist."

"Huh? Yeah I'm already seeing Peach."

"No, Peach is a therapist, a counselor," Pyrrha said. "She's not a psychiatrist. A psychiatrist is the person who'd be able to prescribe you medication."

At that last word, he scowled and looked away, directing his ire at the floor. "I don't like meds. I'm not crazy or anything…"

"Okay, okay," Pyrrha said hesitantly. "I was just wondering, since medication did my family some good."

"W-what?" He looked up at Pyrrha, face filled with a new kind of curiosity. "You…?"

She shook her head. "Not me, but my father. He suffers from bipolar disorder. I'm sure you've heard of that, right?"

He nodded.

"Yes, well… while I was growing up, he didn't take any medication." She glanced away. "That made things at home difficult, since he acted so erratically… sometimes shuttering himself away, not talking, sometimes trying to be so involved it was suffocating. He'd make all sorts of plans and preparations when he was manic, then fall into depression and never follow up on any of it. Things always felt either flat or bumpy. That's how I got into competing."

"Really? How?"

"A family friend came by when I was very young, and he was a professional trainer. He offered me some classes for free, I think because he noticed how I could use a bit of escape. I developed a taste for it, and signed up.

"Training, fighting. It was something to work on, to commit to, a source of stability, since I could never count on my family or home being stable. My dad just… never quite functioned right. It was hectic, having him around. There was a lot of disappointment, and even a little fear.

"Then my mom finally convinced him to see a psychiatrist, and he got some medication. That was just a few years ago. Things have been so much better ever since. It really feels like I have a cohesive family now."

She looked at Jaune, naked concern in her eyes.

"I see a bit of that in you. If you can forgive me for saying… there's just something a little _off_ about you. I think that medication can just help you find your footing, like it did my father." She reached over and squeezed his hand in her own. "It did him a lot of good; maybe it can do you some good, too?"

She sighed and looked down at her can of soda once more, as if looking to it for some kind of backup, some form of assistance. It said nothing.

"But if you don't want to, then you can abstain. I'm hardly qualified to tell you what's best for you. It's just a suggestion."

"Hmph… I'll think about it." And maybe he actually would. But for now, he just picked up his can of soda again, reached over and clinked it against hers to create a tinny clang, a sweet little cheer.

He nodded and smiled, then drank the rancid liquid while his partner did the same.

"Ah, good stuff," he said, happy to see her satisfaction.

"It really is, and I have plenty more stocked in my desk. I'll keep sharing it with you."

"Oh, you really don't have to—"

"No, it's my treat," she said, and the charitable smile on her face almost made him flinch. "You can have as much you'd like."

He looked down at the disgusting concoction in his hands, and honestly, the thought of drinking that crap on a regular basis made him a little nauseous. He looked up at Pyrrha again, saw the smile of his friend. And seeing that, it replaced his urge to grimace with an urge to grin.

"Thanks Pyr."

* * *

"When do you think it'll be done?" he asked her.

Ruby hummed and looked down at the parts disassembled before her, spread out on the armory workbench. The chassis was complete, but they were having trouble connecting the power source to it in a way that was still streamlined and would allow for proper heat ventilation.

"I dunno. A few weeks?" She bit her lip and stared at the gun under construction. "It's just that all this tech still isn't like any of the stuff I'm used too… so you're guess is probably as good as mine."

"Well, we're still using tech from around here, too, which is as familiar to me as my stuff is to you…"

It was hard, combining the technology of two different universes into one device. Electric dust and tesla coils and a complex transmitter array were proving difficult to deal with indeed.

"Sometime this semester," Ruby said. She nodded her head, resolute. "We'll have it done by the of the semester, in time for the missions. I swear it! You'll be able to test this bad boy out in the field."

"Heh, I certainly hope so. Come on, let's pack up for today."

They had the parts broken down, deactivated and placed back in his duffel bag soon enough, having gotten used to the process by now. It was satisfying for both of them; Ruby's general obsession with weapons left her more than pleased to be making one so unique, and Jaune's wish to learn more about the weapons of Remnant had been fulfilled as well.

Plus, they each got to spend more time with the other. For that reason alone, it would have been worth it.

The got back to their rooms. Jaune quickly threw his things into his own, then strode across the hall into team RWBY's dorm. It would be just him and Ruby, playing video games. Strangely… he felt excited at the thought of just being alone with her. In a room. With beds. A bedroom. Alone. It made him jittery for a moment, though just a moment, before the unexplainable sensation dissipated, replaced by the simpler and innocent glee of playing video games with someone so close to him.

He entered her room, just in time to see Ruby finish hooking up the games. He closed the door behind them, and she idly meander over to her desk.

She gasped.

His head snapped in her direction, saw panic on her face. She was looking down at a plastic container, one marked with different days.

"Crap, I forgot! I forgot!" She pried open one of the slots of the container and pulled out a few pills, then looked around the room, darted over and stole a water bottle off of Weiss's desk.

Man, it must be pretty important if she was willing to risk the ice queen's wrath.

"What is that?" Jaune asked. "Are you sick or something?" His stomach tied up a bit, forming a heavy knot at the thought of her being unwell.

She gulped, taking both the water and the pills. She shook her head. "No, no I'm not sick. This is just my anxiety medication."

He felt blank. "Your… what?"

"My anxiety meds," Ruby said with a sigh. She meandered back to her desk, set down what he could now clearly make out as a pillbox. "I get really neurotic and nervous without them, and I'm a lot more likely to have panic attacks, too. Used to have them all the time." She shivered. "They're not fun."

"No… no they're not… I didn't know you took medication," he answered. He looked down at the floor, a blank sheen in his eyes.

Ruby shrugged and meekly rubbed the back of her neck. "Yeah… I had a lot of problems with stuff like that when I was younger, especially with Signal. That's why I had a lot harder of a time back then, just because I didn't have any of my medication or my therapy, so I was a ton more awkward and anxious than I am now." She shook her head. "You guys tell me that I'm not half bad, and that's true… but I used to be a lot worse."

"You don't say…"

"Yeah, the very first day of school at Signal, I had a panic attack when introducing myself to the rest of the class… wound up in the nurse's office and had to take a few days off. That was my _first_ day. No wonder those other kids never actually cared about me." She scowled a bit, before shaking her head and letting the thoughts subside. "But having some stuff to help mellow me out did a lot of good," she said. A smile split her face. "But hey, now I've pretty much got a hang of things. Haven't had a panic in a while, and I've gotten a lot better at handling social stuff just because I can be more calm now." She padded over to the tv, flipped it on. "It's not so big a deal anymore, and I don't even have to take as much medication now as I used to. It was really just about helping me get my footing." She looked back and smiled to him.

"You ready to play?"

"Yeah... think so."

* * *

"I'm glad that you reconsidered," Peach said. She flipped through Jaune's little notebook, making sure he'd recorded affirmations for the last couple days since their latest session. Most of the entries were about his friends, and at least half were about one person in particular.

They walked outside, treading along Beacon's sidewalk towards the sports fields. He'd arrived at her office, only for Peach to then direct him on a walk outside the building. What she had planned, he couldn't even begin to guess. Before they'd gone walking, however, he'd informed her of a change of mind.

"Normally, it'd take at least a couple months to get an appointment with a good psychiatrist, _at least_. But I know plenty of psychs back from university who are good at what they do; I'll reach out, see if I can't get you a meeting sooner." She handed back his little notebook, smiling sweetly as she did. "What made you rethink?"

"Just had a few chats with some friends… they said it might be good for me."

"Figured as much," she said. "You always seem to have a soft spot for your friends and what they say."

"They're important to me."

"I know. Was Ruby one of the people who told you about it?"

"Yeah."

Hm, I figured that too.

Her smile drooped slightly, but she brushed off the feeling and quickened her pace. She wasn't exactly excited by the prospect of this session's contents, just as she hadn't been excited by the last.

"So where are we even going?" Jaune asked. "Should I be worried that you're not telling me?"

"Not at all, nothing to worry about." She pointed out ahead of them. "Actually, you can see it from here."

He followed the direction of her finger and looked forward, seeing Beacon's sports field complex. From the angle they were approaching, he noticed a rather large sled-like device. He knew what it was, a weight puller designed to test out just how much mass a person could drag. Given that aura could hugely enhance one's strength, it only made sense to rig situations for more and more weight, more and more challenging. As it were, there were massive sleds on which great weights could be placed, then dragged forward across a track, far more than normal human could hope to handle.

He'd been there once with Yang, and while he'd been able to haul an impressive amount, she'd pulled several tons, certainly more than him. And if he were to believe her talk of her semblance, then she could haul even more. As it were, one of the sleds was fully loaded with more than even Yang had pulled.

"You're going to drag that," Peach said. "And while you do, we're going to talk."

"What?"

"You're going to drag that," Peach repeated (though now she formed the words much more slowly). "And while you do, we're going to talk."

"Why…?"

"It's an exercise, like the one we did last sessions with the compliments and the candy."

Jaune eyed the massive weights. It was easy enough to divert one's aura for brief bouts of extreme power, but it was another thing altogether to strain one's spiritual power to influence physical power over a longer period of time. Fighters like Yang were a master of that, practicing especially in concentrating the power of her aura into her strength, whereas Ruby focused on using it to further enhance her speed and maneuverability and Weiss used it to help her manipulate dust. He'd personally taken a path based on endurance; with formidable strength that could be upkept for a while, he could outlast most opponents. Or at least, that was the plan.

He'd been practicing with the weights sled, but never with as much as Peach had now stacked on.

"This is pretty different from saying nice things and getting candy," he said.

"Well yeah, of course it is. When you go to the gym, do you do the exact same exercises over and over again? Of course not, since you need variation to get a well-rounded workout. It's the same thing here. So come on, grab that chain."

A heavy steel chain was connected to the front of the sled, and Jaune only sighed and surrendered. He didn't much see the value of all this, but if Peach wanted him to do it… well, that was the agreement, wasn't it? He'd assented to doing what she wanted him to do, trusting that she knew best.

He took hold of the chain, getting a good grip on it before pooling his aura in his legs and pushing, hauling himself down the track.

The sled moved a couple feet, before he stopped.

"So, why don't you tell me a bit about how you grew up?" Peach asked.

"Are you seriously going to try and have a conversation while I'm doing this?"

"Absolutely. Now come on, I'm interested in your younger years. They can often have a lot of insight into who we are today."

"Heh, you sound a lot like Freud."

"Who?"

"Nobody," he said quickly, having forgotten that common knowledge in one universe wasn't so common in another. To cover his lapse in lying, he grunted and hauled the massive weights another few feet, before stopping once again. This much weight required a surge in aura, which wasn't necessarily his forte, at least not in keeping up for extended periods of time. Yang, Pyrrha or Nora, sure, but not him. He could call forth great strength, like the time he'd stopped the Deathstalker in its tracks, or braced himself to be smashed by a giant falling crane, but stamina was more his suit. He shook his head and hauled again regardless.

"Aren't you going to tell me about how you grew up?"

"A little hard to focus on that," he replied when he stopped hauling once more.

"Well then try a little harder."

He sighed. "I grew up in a little place, just a thousand people. We were separated from the outside world, had a better quality of life since we kept to ourselves, had a nice little thing going—"

"You're not pulling," Peach interrupted.

"What?"

"You've stopped trying to pull the weights."

"Well yeah, that's because I'm talking. To you."

"Do both," Peach said. She crossed her arms, making it clear that she very much expected him to haul the many tons of steel weights while conversing.

Again, he sighed and pulled. This time, he opened is mouth as he did so. The words were strained, but they were there nonetheless. "It was a nice place to live… right until it wasn't."

From there, he told her more about how things had went to shit. The draconian laws of no one being allowed to enter or leave, which his father had broken, put him in hot water. He escaped, barely. He had to leave behind his only friend, Amata. They talked a bit about her, and a bit about his father, and a bit about even his mother, dead when he was born.

Peach nodded. "At least you had stability in those formative years, though the repression sounds unsavory. It hardly sounds like they liked free thought there."

"No, no they didn't," Jaune shook his head, face red with the effort of both talking while trying to force his way further down the track.

Suddenly, that changed. He took a few steps forward unexpectedly, as the weight seemed to decrease. He looked behind him and sure enough, Peach had picked up one of the massive weights (a single ton on its own) with just one hand, then gingerly placed it on the ground. Damn, she was strong.

Then again, she was also at least a decade older and more experienced than him, so her greater strength was hardly surprising. What was surprising, however, was the act itself.

"Why did you do that?" he asked.

"It's part of the exercise," she answered. "Now come on, let's go on to another subject. Tell me about your wasteland."

And so he did. He tip-toed around the dangerous subjects, like murder and torture and the fact that he grew up a universe way, giving her as accurate a portrayal as he could. It was easier now to haul the load, lighter, and it got even easier after she took off another weight, and then another.

By the time he reached the end of the track, he didn't need to stop at all, pulling the weight that remained with reasonable effort, while much more easily being able to talk to Peach as well. Then sled clinked against the end of the track and he let go of the chain, finished.

"You happy?" he asked Peach.

"Absolutely!" she replied with a beatific smile and some excited clapping. It was hard to resent her, despite the annoying effort she'd forced him through.

"So… why did we just do all that?" he asked.

"Goal-setting. Realistic goal-setting," Peach replied. "I want to spend a bit of time hashing out what it is, exactly, we're going to be doing, and what exactly we want to achieve." She pointed to the track, the massive weights. "This is just a metaphor, a visualization. You carry a great amount of weight with you Jaune, the weight of the past and the feelings you associate with it."

"Oh…" Suddenly, everything made quite a lot of sense. Leave it to Peach to come up with something like this. It was a pretty good demonstration, a lot more effective than just saying, 'you've got baggage.' He nodded. "So the goal is to get rid of all that weight."

"No," Peach said, shaking her head. "The goal is to get rid of some of the weight, as much of it as we can, but not all of it." She sighed and looked him straight in the eye. "It's impossible to get rid of all the weight, Jaune. That's simply how our psyches work. You're always going to have the specter of the past behind you, and the emotions will always be there. Because it _did_ happen, and nothing short of amnesia will alleviate you fully of the trauma.

"I need you to accept this first and before anything else. Life is a process, an effortful process. And now, as well as forever, you will need to put in that effort. The amount of effort you put in, and the kinds of things you need to focus on, are very different from most others." She reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Your normal will be more painful than what it otherwise could be, as I know from experience. Our goal isn't to completely dispel your issues: to do that would be impossible, and feeding you false hope is unethical and unhealthy. Our goal is to alleviate as much as we can, such that you can operate more easily.

"The goal is to make it as easy as possible for you to be happy. That doesn't mean the difficulty will disappear, just that it will be more manageable." She looked up, saw a few students heading their way to the previously empty track. "Come on, let's get back to my office so we can talk about this some more, in private."

A quiet walk ended with the click of a shutting door. Jaune picked up his slinky and fell onto the sofa, letting his back and rear sink into the cushions.

"Radical acceptance," Peach said as she sat down in her chair. "That's the real goal. There are a great many things in this life that serve as stressors, that cause us pain, anxiety, fear, sadness. If you can accept the existence of those things, then they can no longer affect you.

"Acceptance is, however, a process. It is not something simply to be attained, but something to both be attained and then upheld, with effort." She leaned over in her chair and scooted towards him, generally getting closer. "The goal here is for you to come to accept the things that are bothering you as best as you can, relieving as much stress as can be relieved. Accept the world around you. Accept your past. Most importantly, accept yourself."

Jaune flinched when she stopped talking, as the full weight of the words impacted him. That was asking a lot.

"I'm sure it sounds like I'm asking a lot," Peach said. "I just know that you can do it. I've done it. I've seen others do it. You're a strong, good person."

"Yeah… you've talked a lot about _effort_. What do you even mean by that?"

She smiled. "I'm glad you asked that, Jaune. There will be a lot of meta-cognition, but a lot of our work will also focus in physical actions and scenarios you may come across. For starters, I'm going to need you to do something that may run counter to your instincts."

"Like what?" he asked suspiciously.

"I need you to put yourself first," she said. "I need you to prioritize yourself before anyone else."

"What? You want me to be selfish all of a sudden?"

"No, I want you to assign yourself value. As I see it, you're a brilliantly empathetic person who also hates himself. You value others a great amount but ascribe none to yourself. That's very dangerous for you. It'll inhibit your ability to cope, to avoid stress, to promote self-love." Her smile took a slightly sad edge. "You're a good person, and you want what's best for the people you care about. I just need you to care about yourself and think as highly as yourself, as you do for any of your friends."

Him? Why the fuck would he ever put himself on the same level as the others? Pyrrha, Ren, Nora, Ruby, Weiss, Yang and Blake were good people. They had ideals. They had strength. They had—

"I can tell by that look on your face that you aren't thinking very nice things about yourself right now," Peach said. "That's a strategy we'll work on: detecting and averting self-deprecating thoughts." She sighed and leaned back in her chair. "Like I said Jaune, acceptance is a process. I hardly expect you to reverse all the built-in hatred today, but I do expect you to start working on it, even if you don't believe it quite yet. If you start with action, then substance will follow. Discipline is the first step to meaning."

"Alright… I can do action. What are you thinking?"

"Even if you don't imagine yourself as being particularly deserving of it, I need you to prioritize your own needs. If one of your friends asks you for help, but providing that help would cause you significant stress, then I want you to refuse them."

"So, you want me to abandon my friends?"

Peach chuckled. "That's quite the extreme twisting of words there, Jaune. Did I say the word 'abandon'?"

"No, but you might as well have."

"You can care for people and be there for them without running yourself raw and ignoring your own needs. I need you to start setting boundaries on what you do based on what's best for you. We'll work more on recognizing and setting these boundaries for yourself, but it's something you'll have to do if you want to get better. You _do_ want to get better, don't you?"

"Of course, but if it's going to start costing my friends—"

"Your recovery will only benefit them," Peach said. "You being healthy will give them a healthy relationship they can draw on. As it is, you have a greater risk of putting strain on them, be it through worry or the need for intervention. Being in a healthier state will, in the long run, better equip you for caring for them."

He blinked. Some of the tenseness he hadn't even noticed building, now melted out of his muscles. When she put it that way…

"Not only that, but your friends care for you a great deal, even if you don't care for yourself. I have no doubt in my mind that, were they in the room with us right now, they'd be telling you to do what's best for you. Even if you don't value yourself, recognize that your friends do. Respect their wishes." She smirked. "After all, they pushed you to come to me, did they not?"

"They did…"

"Then adhere to that mandate," Peach said. "Do what's best for _you_. You'll be doing right by them, that way."

"Hmm…"

She took a deep breath. This would be… less than stellar news for him, but it was necessary nonetheless.

"On the subjects of peers, I want to touch on one thing in particular, one very important thing."

"Yeah? What's that?" There was a certain eagerness in his voice. It seemed that… was he getting excited? Perhaps. That was a good thing, rousing some excitement for his own recovery process, a good step.

Her smile dropped. She knew he was going to stop being excited real quick.

"Ruby Rose," she said.

He smiled. Of course he did.

"What about her?" he asked.

"You're in love with her."

"Ack!" His eyes widened immensely, and he almost choked. "N-no, we're just friends!" He shook his head vigorously. "Man, all of my other friends get on my case about this too, don't join them!"

"I think we're all bringing it up because it's true," Peach said. "Jaune, of all the positive affirmations I've had you write for me, not a day has gone by where you don't mention Ruby at least once. Heck, I'm pretty sure there have been a few days where she somehow accounts for literally all five of your affirmations."

"She's my friend! We spend time together, so yeah!"

"And now you're blushing, flustered and extraordinarily defensive towards me," Peach said.

"Well yeah, because—"

"I'm saying the truth." She crossed her arms, unimpressed by haphazard denial. "Every time I mention her name, you get brighter. You adore her. That much is clear by how you talk about her, how you act whenever she's brought up. You're smitten."

"Did you talk to Nora!?"

"What? No, it'd be unethical for me to reach out to any of your friends." She shook her head. "I'm saying the obvious, Jaune. You're head over heels for this girl, even if you don't realize it." She raised one eyebrow. "Though I have a feeling that you do."

"What?"

"Are you trying to convince me right now that you're not in love with her, or are you trying to convince yourself?"

"I…"

"Do you think you're not good enough for her? Is that it?"

Again, he answered with silence.

Peach's eyes were hard as she nodded a few times, hard with anger, though none directed to him. She could only imagine the things that had happened to him. She was angry _for_ him.

"Alright. You think she'd be better off with someone else, or that you don't deserve her. You don't deserve her because she's too good for you, and because you think that, it's easier for you to deny that you have any feelings for her at all, lest you face the pain of recognizing them and contending with the fact that you and her can't be together."

He looked down at the floor. In his hands, the slinky was hopelessly crushed and twisted, an iron grip with shaking fingers.

"Am I right?"

He answered with silence.

"It's all bullshit, all of that," Peach said. She pursed her black lips and shook her head. "Complete bullshit. No one is 'too good' for you, Jaune."

"But I…"

He couldn't tell her. He couldn't tell her all the terrible reasons for why she was wrong. How could he tell her? How could he tell anyone the things he'd done?

"You're a kind, skilled, caring person, Jaune. You're a good guy."

He shook his head.

"Hey, I went to school to analyze people. I'm a professional, okay? And in my professional opinion, you are a fundamentally valuable human being."

He dropped the slinky, letting it clatter on the floor. He brought his hands up to his face, ground his knuckles against tightly shut eyes. A little bit of liquid seeped through nonetheless, but he wiped it away quickly. The skin of his face was taught and red, suppressing barely a great many things that threatened to burst out.

"You don't have to hold yourself back here," Peach said, voice soft. "You can yell and cry and no one will see it but me, and I'll never judge you. Never."

His throat felt tight, as if he'd swallowed a jagged rock that was now lodged near his trachea. He mustered the strength to shake his head again.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

"I'm fine," he said, voice brittle and weak. "T-thank you… for saying that." It wasn't true. He knew that it wasn't true, but the pure kindness in her believing that falseness… it was enough to affect him nonetheless.

Peach smiled. "I'm saying what I see. I see a young man struggling with certain aspects of his life, and that young man is a good person who is fully equipped with everything he needs to lead a happy, fulfilling existence.

"And right now, romance is not one of those things."

He blinked, then narrowed his eyes slightly, not sure if he'd heard her correctly. "What?" he asked, voice still shaky.

"Romance is not something you need right now," Peach said. "In fact, I think it would be inhibiting."

"W-what?"

"You're in love with Ruby," she stated. "I am right, am I not?"

He stared down at the floor for a few seconds, before swallowing and nodding. He wasn't an idiot. Of course he'd known the truth of how he felt for her, but hey, consciously lying to himself and suppressing well-known truths was nothing foreign to him, now was it? In fact, it seems to have become a favored pass time.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

"She means so much to me…"

"I know she does. Your love for her practically radiates. The only thing is this: love is a complicated topic. It introduces a great deal of complexity, difficulty and pain. That's invariable. Right now, however, what you need the most is simplicity, stability and peace. It is highly inadvisable for patients trying to recover and focus on their own health, to get involved in romantic relationships."

He started to understand what she was saying.

"Wait… so…"

"I believe it would be best for you," Peach said, "if you don't pursue a relationship with Ruby."

The world felt incredibly still for a moment, and strangely quiet as well. It was a long moment.

"Why?"

"As I said, love is complicated. Not only that, but it is demanding. A romantic relationship holds certain expectations, like devoting your time and energy to your partner in a way that you would not for anyone else. Right now, I think it'd be best for you to devote the most time and energy only to yourself, for all the reasons we've already discussed.

"You can't afford to be distracted by a relationship. And let me tell you, they are _very_ distracting. The world around us melts away when we get seriously involved with someone else. Right now, I really need you to be aware and conscious of what's going on, focused on your issues. Something as big as a girlfriend makes that a lot harder.

"And of course, there's the old saying: how can you love someone else, if you don't even love yourself?"

Jaune stared at the floor. He let her words wash over him, unable to think of a single thing to reply. The thought of Ruby had aroused the usual assortment of emotions: excitement, pleasure, attraction, happiness. Now it seemed that those feelings were getting ripped to shreds by the sharp truth of his situation.

"So… I _am_ too messed up to be with her."

Peach sighed. "That's not what I said, Jaune. There's nothing inherently wrong with you. There is nothing about _you_ that is wrong. _Nothing_. There are certain afflictions you are contending with, and I believe we need to deal with those the best we can. It's like if you were sick and the doctor recommended you stay in bed for a while. That's the closest analogy I can give to your situation."

Peach got up from her chair and walked across the room. Jaune slowly twisted his head to look at her, feeling too sluggish to at all be hostile or paranoid about her movements.

She sat right down beside him on the couch. "I just really want you to focus on _you_ , okay? Ruby sounds great, and one day, the two of you may make a great couple, a beautiful couple. I just don't think that that day is today, or tomorrow, or next week, or maybe not even next month. Right now, I just don't feel like you're in the right mental state to handle and produce a healthy romantic relationship. Before you can become so intimate and reach out to someone else like that, you need to reach out to yourself. Okay?" She set her hand on his arm, a sad little smile tugging at the ends of her lips. "Everyone wants what's best for you, and I think that you staying single, that you keeping up some healthy friendships while working through your difficulties, will be the most beneficial."

His thoughts were slow. He easily recognized some of the physical things, like her hand on his arm. It felt nice. He liked when people touched him, showed their support like that. Maybe Peach had picked up on that. She'd certainly picked up on many things.

"So am I… do I just… what, ignore how I feel about her?"

"Not at all. Recognize your feelings, accept them. Just don't act on them. Again, I'm not talking about abandonment, just prioritizing. You need to prioritize attending to yourself over attending to others."

"But what if being with her makes me happy? Isn't that good? Didn't you say you wanted me to be happy?"

"I'm sure you can be happy with her Jaune, but it would be a distraction, a big one. You wouldn't be solving any of your issues, just hiding them. Coping with them, not dealing with them. That's not sustainable or healthy in a relationship, for either party."

"So it'd be best for both of us…"

"If you abstained from anything romantic for now, yes. That is my opinion."

"Your professional opinion."

"Yes."

He looked around the room. He looked at her, and then he looked at her desk, her chair, the walls, the floor, the roof. None of them offered a word of support, or a single reason for him to disobey her.

"Okay," he said. "Okay…"

Peach smiled and patted his arm. "It's alright Jaune. You can still care for Ruby, just like you care about all your other friends, just prioritize. We'll go over things like meta-awareness for your thoughts, meditation, thought techniques, all the works. And we'll work through your past. That way, the future will be a whole lot brighter."

Brighter? That was why he was here, wasn't it? Yes, that was why… god, I hope Peach knows what she's talking about.

"Okay," he repeated, the words were filled with a stronger resolve.

"Alright then," Peach said, rising from the couch. "I wanted to go over the papers I gave you, but we'll bite into that next session since we're close to time." She turned back to him. "Is there anything else you wanted to go over?"

"Just… aren't I supposed to be the leader?"

"Hm?"

"The leader… I'm the team leader. I'm supposed to take responsibility for my team… and I'm supposed to be strong…"

"You _are_ strong, Jaune. If you weren't, then you wouldn't be here, in my office, trying to overcome everything that's bothering you. You would never have made it here. And you do still have responsibility. It's just that you're also in a position where some of that can be alleviated if need be, for better performance in the long run. You can trust your team to function without you there all the time, though I know you want to be there. And don't forget that you're just in your first year at Beacon.

"It's not like anything too dangerous is going to happen to you now."

* * *

"Be careful with that," a man said. His voice grated through a heavy black gas mask. Even then, the disdain in his voice manifested strongly, enough to make the mask-wearing faunus he looked down on glare back at him. The shattered moon's pale light reflected off their masks' lenses.

The little staring contest ended after a moment, with the white fang grunt grumbling and taking hold of the crate, which he hauled off the dolly and headed toward the bullhead parked on the beach beside them.

The man in the gas mask scrutinized the white fang, hands cautiously placed on the sharp sai strapped to his waist. The animals didn't do anything untoward, however, as they carried unmarked crates from the truck they arrived in, across the beach and to the bullhead. Another man in a gas mask stood in the bullhead, helping them load the cargo.

The Mistral coast glittered in the moonlight, a true sight to behold, but the man kept his eyes firmly on the animals before him, making sure they didn't make a single move out of line.

A flash of movement in the side of his vision stole his attention for a moment, but it was merely a crow alighting upon the bullhead's wing. He dismissed it immediately, returned his focus to the white fang.

They were efficient creatures, he would concede. They had the cargo loaded and were back in their truck and driving away within just a few minutes, allowing him to breathe a sigh of relief, that their polluting presence was finally gone.

"Come on, the Commander's schedule is airtight," he told the pilot as he hopped up into the bullhead, cargo doors closing behind him.

The bullhead's engine hummed as it vibrated slightly and came to life, engine heating up as dust burned and powered the vehicle. As that occurred, the crow flapped its wings and took off, flying into the forest as the bullhead rose from the sand and quickly shot out in across the sea, heading straight to Vale.

The little black bird traveled in the opposite direction, deeper into the woods, until diving down when it saw a safe-looking clearing. As it neared the ground, its feathers turned shadowy as a darkness engulfed the little creature. Within a fraction of a second, it massively increased in size, and the darkness dispelled.

Qrow stomped down to the ground with a sigh. He shook his head and immediately reached for the flask at his hip, downing half of it in a single swig. He wiped his mouth and pulled out his scroll, hammering out a message.

 _Q: Looks like there are some more pieces at play than we thought. I'll be coming back to Vale soon._


	24. Chapter 24

**And we're back once more. The reactions to Peach last chapter were as mixed as I thought they would be. I hope that I got her reasoning across well. We'd actually do similar stuff back at the center I volunteered at, encourage people to place themselves first and be wary of entering romantic relationships, at least while unstable. As people have pointed out, yes Ruby could serve as a source of stability for Jaune, but Peach doesn't want that right now. She wants to train Jaune until he's able to serve as a source of stability for himself. For now, she wants him relying more on her than others, since she's a professional and there's far less danger of Jaune getting bad advice or becoming overly reliant. There are a lot of good reasons for her to be putting off his romantic pursuits, at least for the time being. That may change in the future, depending on how well Jaune develops.**

* * *

"Crayons?" he asked.

"Crayons," she said.

Jaune sighed and looked at Peach's hands, holding a box of crayons and several blank pieces of paper. He shook his head, but took them from her nonetheless. "Alright, what am I going to be doing this time?"

"I just want you to have a coloring session, a mindful exercise. Let thoughts of the outside world, be it about the past, the present, or the future, just fade away. Focus just on the drawing. I'll even turn on some music too."

Jaune nervously eyed the posters on her wall, recalled the harsh screeching he sometimes caught her listening to when he came to the office. The thought of it made him wince.

"Don't worry, it'll just be some nice, simple piano," Peach said with a sly smile showing she knew very much how 'particular' her musical tastes were. "Unless you have some other request?"

"No, piano sounds fine."

"Good, good. Come here, you can use my desk to do your drawing, okay?" Peach rose from her seat and gestured for him to take it, which he did without protest.

"But what am I going to be drawing?" he asked her. "Anything?"

"No, not anything. I want you to draw four things in particular. Four emotions: anger, sadness, fear, joy." She sat down on the plush seat beside the couch that Jaune usually took. She took out her scroll and started swapping through the apps. "I want you to draw their manifestations, in whatever way you want. Whatever comes to you when you think of those four, draw it out. It can be abstract or specific, whatever you want. Just capture those feelings, as you see them."

Jaune hummed and spread out his supplies on the desk, feeling a little like he'd gone back in time a few years. They'd had crayons back in the vault, though they were rationed out, just a few crayons per child for their lifetime. It'd been a long time since he's scribbled his away.

Peach tapped a few commands into her scroll, and then the speaker on her desk booted up. It began to softly whisper piano notes to him, quiet and soothing. He pried open the pack of crayons, picked out a few random colors and stared down at the pile of paper before him.

He bit his lip, trying to think over how he would go about this. Peach had given him free reign when it came to visualization, but that autonomy left him without direction. He stared down at the blank paper, toying limply with a few crayons.

Joy. He could start off with that… yeah, that would be nice. So what was it that made him happy? A thing? Or a landscape… yeah, yeah a landscape. A setting. Now what kind of setting…

He took a pink crayon and scratched it against the paper, marking out a crude circle of pink scribbles. He then took a brown crayon and drew a simple rectangle sprouting down from the pink, making a very basic cherry blossom tree. It was the same sort of tree as that which stood in the center of Beacon's gardens.

From there, he took just about every crayon in box and drew out dozens of tiny dots as flowerbeds. A yellow circle in the sky served as the sun, and for good measure, he even took the black crayon and gave it a smiley face. A light blue color filled in the sky as well as the pond in which the cherry-blossom was planted.

Finally, he drew two stick figures, side-by-side. One was a bit taller than the other. On the shorter one, he colored a basic triangle over the waist, a skirt. They stood close to one another, but somehow it didn't feel quite right to him. He scowled, looking at the two figures, before a grin popped on his face, alongside an idea.

He added onto their arms, making the ones nearer to one another longer, angled them out. Their arms were now uneven and a little bent, but that was fine. It looked they were holding hands.

Then he added in several more stick figures, crowded around but giving the couple a respectful distance. A group. No one was alone.

Joy, complete.

He moved on to another paper. This time, he once more constructed the cherry-blossom, but it had no petals. It was just a bare trunk, grey this time, with poorly drawn, jagged branches that spread out leafless in the air. He used more grey to depict the many flowers around, all dead. Black filled in the night, with a single full moon in the sky serving as the sole observer to a lone stick-figure on the ground, staring absently at the dead tree and the dead flowers.

Sadness, complete.

Another paper, and this time, he went straight to red. There was the cherry-blossom, and there was the fire. Well, there was crude, jagged lines of red, orange and yellow that he drew coming out from his simple depiction of the tree. Those same hot colors dominated the rest of the drawing, covering the ground, consuming the space where the flowers once were. The sky was grey, choked by ash. The stick figure was once more alone.

Anger, complete.

Again with the tree. It had leaves, pink scratchings of wax. A smattering of multi-colored flowers covered the ground. There was now only one stick figure, alone.

Fear, complete.

Jaune put down the crayons and stretched out his fingers, made slightly sore by the scrawling. He hadn't done anything like this in upwards of a decade. Now there were four pieces of paper, just as Peach had asked for him, and a little smile fell on his face. It was strangely satisfying, completing the task.

"I'm done," he said.

"Great!" Peach stopped looking through her scroll and hopped up from her seat. She went back to her desk and switched places with Jaune, who returned to his usual cushions as Peach reviewed his work.

She took time to observe each one, seriously dissecting their construction. She turned off the speaker and the piano music, leaving the room sounding of nothing other than her shuffling the papers and her clinking chains.

"Art can be a great tool in therapy," she eventually said. "It helps people represent feelings and thoughts that they can't exactly put into words." She glanced his way. "Tell me Jaune, did you enjoy this exercise?"

He shrugged and said, "it wasn't too bad. Kind of relaxing. A little bit of thinking."

Peach nodded and looked back to his drawings. "The goal of things like this is mindfulness, relaxing and letting other problems seep away. Not only that, but introspection. Tell me, which of these drawings do you identify with the most?"

He needed no time to think before answering: fear

Peach nodded again and shuffled through the papers. "Is that this one?" she asked, holding up the paper for sadness.

"No, it's the one with only one stick figure in the garden, and not the one where everything's on fire."

"Gotcha," she said, shuffling through to the correct piece. "This looks pretty nice," she said. "What about it represents fear?"

"The person's alone."

"Yes, yes he is."

"After some experience… there's nothing worse to me than being stuck in a pretty place and not being able to share it with people I like. I like pretty places, I really do. I even like being in them alone sometimes, 'cause it's relaxing." He shook his head. "But I don't… I don't want the option to be taken away. It feels like that one… that drawing is an alternative I don't like."

"I understand," Peach said. Her eyes flicked to a different drawing. "And is there any particular reason you drew the moon as being whole?"

Shit.

"No."

"Hm, alright. Just a bit easier to draw, I guess?"

"Yes."

She chuckled and muttered, "Can't fault you on that." She placed the pages back down on her desk and turned to him, another one of her typical sweet smiles. "I'm very happy that you took this exercise seriously Jaune. And I love how you arranged it, the same setting but under different situations. Very creative."

He chuckled and suppressed a smile. "Thanks."

"Now, is that what you're really afraid of? Being alone."

"Yeah, yeah that's probably the biggest thing."

"You know, your friends are all glad to have you," Peach said. "They won't be leaving you any time soon."

He winced. If they knew the truth of who he was, then they'd be leaving quick. Blake knew, if only a little bit, and because of that, she avoided him. They hadn't spared another word to each other since she confronted him in the infirmary; he always saw a hint of judgement in her eyes whenever he happened to catch them.

Then again, there was no need for any of them to know. In fact, it would be impossible. After all, he'd left that life a world behind him, and was now quite adept at putting on the act of a civilized, respectable human being.

"I guess they won't," he said. "But… what if they're taken away? I mean, that's what happened before."

"True," Peach said. She dolefully shrugged. "The world takes things away from us, and that's something we just have to accept. There's no way to change that. But it gives us things, too. Instead of worrying about having your friends taken away, I think it'd be better to focus on how they were given to you." She shook her head. "No, how you _earned_ them. You earned your friends, Jaune. You did it before, and you've done it again."

I did it by lying and covering my tracks.

"Sure," he said, tersely flicking his eyes away to the floor.

"Jaune, if you were to give me a list, to the best of your abilities, what would you say are some of the biggest things contributing to your low self-esteem?

"Up until now, I've assumed that much of your difficulties spawned from the events with your team, about the feelings of guilt and failure you associate with that. Am I correct?"

"Yes."

"Is there anything else bothering you?"

Peach raised one eyebrow. Jaune saw it when he glanced back at her, but he pretended like he hadn't and looked away once more. The floor was strangely interesting at this time of the day, after all; he just couldn't keep his eyes away. It was just so… floor.

"Jaune, what else is there that's bothering you?"

"Nothing."

"Lying to me does you no favors,"' Peach said. "I'm only helping you, you know that; I've told you that, and I'll keep telling you that and trying my best to prove it. Whatever it is, you don't need to be afraid about me judging you. I won't."

I seriously doubt that.

"It's fine, really."

"I can tell from the way you're acting that it really isn't. Your speech, your posture, it's all guarded. You don't need to hide anything from me, Jaune."

"I'm not hiding anything."

She scowled, but eventually gave up with a sigh. "Alright fine, I can't force you… but I will remind you that it is only in your best interest to do so. I'll give you until next session, alright?"

"Next session?"

"Yes, I'll drop it for now, and I expect you to think it over and come up with a way to broach the topic of your additional issues next session. Perhaps you just need some time to think over how best to tell me."

"There's nothing wrong, Peach." He knew there was no convincing her, but he hoped nonetheless that she would get the message that he _really_ didn't want to talk about it. Then again, she didn't really care for what he wanted or not, did she? She was more focused on what he needed… or what she thought he needed.

"Next session," Peach said. "You have until next session, when I'll start pestering you again."

"I thought you said you weren't going to force me?"

"No, but I did say I was going to push you. I can't _make_ you tell me, no matter what." She crossed her arms over her chest, and the chains around her waist jingled as the clinked against one another. "I _will_ push you, encourage you, try to convince you. I'll spend all the time I need on that until we get to the root of your problems, or you can save us both a lot of time and come out with it on your own. After all, you promised me, you promised yourself, you promised your friends, that you would commit to this, didn't you?"

A welt of guilt formed in his gut. "Yes…"

"Now, there's nothing wrong with you continuing to be apprehensive about certain topics," Peach said. Her voice was a lighter tone now, less firm than it had been a moment before, comforting. "Especially if it's difficult. I'm not judging you for your reservation, and I hope that you don't judge yourself for it. It's entirely natural. I just really want you to try and overcome it, okay? Even if it's difficult. So next session. We'll talk about it then."

He swallowed.

"Okay."

* * *

His hands shuddered slightly. Whether that was because of lingering nervousness from his latest session with Peach and all its implications, or because of the little bout of withdrawal he still went through occasionally, or because of some combination thereof, he didn't know. All he could do was take out his pack of nicotine gum and put a tab of it in his mouth.

The fight before him didn't much capture his interest, partly because he'd known what the outcome would be from the moment Goodwitch announced the match. From his position in the stand, he watched Pyrrha annihilate Team CRDL while he sat with the rest of his team as well as RWBY. Although his partner's prowess was certainly impressive, he didn't exactly find fights 'entertaining'.

He'd long since stopped thinking of violence as 'fun'.

Nevertheless, he was the first to start clapping and the last to stop when Miss Goodwitch declared Pyrrha the victor. His partner was still in the green, having annihilated CRDL while only just breaking a sweat. A feat he'd accomplished himself, though only though the use of his dirtier tactics.

She got out of the arena without incident and took a seat besides him.

"Great as usual," he said, jabbing his elbow in her ribs. A normal compliment. It wasn't too gratuitous since he knew that that would only cause her concern for her fame to flare. He didn't care, really, and he made sure to act in kind.

"Thank you," Pyrrha replied, smiling and gratefully accepting his praise, as well as the praise of her other friends.

A crack of Miss Goodwitch's whip stopped any and all conversation in the room. "Would anyone like to volunteer for the next spar?"

One hand rose from the crowd.

"Yeah, I'd like to fight," said a student with silver hair. He held a cocky smirk on his face.

"Mr. Black, thank you for your enthusiasm. Would anyone like to volunteer to fight as well?"

"Actually, I was wondering if I could make a request," he said. He looked across the room and pointed directly at Jaune. "The guy with the chainsaw. Never fought anything like that before, seems like it'd be fun."

"Well Mr. Arc? Would you like to fight?" Miss Goodwitch asked.

There was a pang of paranoia, of course. He'd been called out specifically, pointed at, made the center of attention. A prickling sensation scratched around under his skin, but he held his breathe and forced that away, before releasing the air. Crocea Mors was a unique weapon that had garnered a few questions and stares during his time at Beacon. The curiosity it aroused was wholly natural.

There was nothing amiss here.

"Not a problem," Jaune said, rising from his seat. He cracked his knuckles.

* * *

"Then you were all like, ' _Ha! I am the victor!'_ " Nora proudly proclaimed, stabbing a fork into her chicken as she did so, hard enough to cause the entire cafeteria table to shake. "Best fighter!"

"Not really," Jaune said with a shrug, benignly cutting up his own beef.

"Oh come, take our kudos at least this one time," Yang said. "I mean, you _smoked_ the guy."

Jaune shook his head. "Yeah… but… it felt too easy. It was weird. I don't think he was giving it his all. I mean, it felt like he just stayed in the preliminary part of the fight, like he didn't actually commit. I kept waiting for him to strike out or start attacking or do _something_." He sighed and took a bite of his meat, gnawing out the juicy flavor before swallowing, "I mean, even Miss Goodwitch chewed him out for not following up on anything."

"That's because I didn't want to," said a voice from behind.

Jaune turned and saw none other than Mercury Black standing a few feet behind him, though he wasn't alone. He recognized two of his teammates with him as well, a girl with green hair and another with black. They all wore the distinctive outfits of Beacon's Mistralian counterpart, Haven. Mercury took a seat just beside him on the table, making him scoot away and inch and turn more bodily to face him. His fellow student wasn't posturing in any aggressive way, however, casually leaning on the table and sporting an equally casual smile. Jaune remained on guard nonetheless.

"You did really good," Mercury said, "like, _really_ good. I can tell you're probably gonna end up fighting in the tournament, huh? Especially with Nikos as your partner." Mercury nodded to Pyrrha, who politely waved back. "Just figured I'd follow up our fight with some banter: it's just the most 'sportsmanlike' thing to do, dontcha think?"

"Guess so."

"Anyway, Mercury Black, new arrival from Haven" he said, extending a hand for Jaune to shake, which he did (though not without a second of trepidation). They each possessed a grip that was noticeably forcible and more than firm. They each appreciated that.

"But why did you hold back in the fight?" Jaune asked.

It was his teammate who answered, the one with black hair: "Strategy. We don't want to give out all our abilities before the possible competition, after all."

"So you're planning on entering the tournament?" Weiss asked, perking up at the mention of cold tactics and competition.

"That we are," she replied. "We just wanted to get a feel for some of the other major players… I heard that team JNPR is one of the best around."

Jaune bristled. So they _had_ possessed an ulterior motive, huh?

"And Mercury did really want to fight against a chainsaw."

"Guilt as charged," he said, and it was hard to dislike the smile on his face. "But man, you and I got to catch up sometime after the tournament and go all out together, I really want to see the full potential of the chainsaw, man."

"Maybe."

"But yes, we're trying to be strategic, since we want to win, of course," the girl continued. "But strategic hardly translates to heartless. I want everyone here to get along well, competitor or not." Her smile was saccharine.

He calmed slightly, paranoia becoming slightly assuaged. It was only natural that they'd be probing the competition while keeping themselves reserved, a smart strategy given the tournament was near. Hell, he'd certainly been hearing Weiss talk about it a lot. And of course Pyrrha, with her naturally competitive spirit and history, was itching to perform well too. He didn't really have any right to judge this team, if his own friends were caught up in the same sort of thinking, now did he?

"Alright, not a problem," he said. "I can get where you're coming from, and nice of you to still try and be friendly." Affirm. Peach had told him. Affirm people's actions; if you agree with or like something they did, say it. It was just one good little skill to include into your interpersonal communication.

Cinder looked quite pleased by his statement, letting her smile widen. She really was a pretty woman. No, _beautiful_. Really, what was it with all the people around here, being attractive as hell? Heck, her smile was particularly enticing, wet lips under sparkling eyes.

Hm, was he staring?

He blinked and glanced away, damn hormones could still act up every now and again. Best not to look like a creep to every nice-looking girl that comes by, lord knows he'd taken long enough to get over Weiss.

"I was examining you in the fight," she said. "I must admit, I found your form very _impressive_." She put an inflection in the last world, let the syllables dance in a noticeable manner.

Huh, maybe it's a part of an accent? I mean, she's from Mistral, right?

"Thanks," he said, shrugging and swerving around the compliment as he usually did. "Nothing much."

"No really, you were a spectacle," she said. "But I don't actually think I've introduced myself just yet." She leaned across the table, hand extended. "I'm Cinder Fall, lovely to meet you."

"Same," he said, clasping her hand in his own. It was calloused, just as much as any other huntress or huntsman he'd shook hands with, a clear sign of her work. Nevertheless, it was clear that she must put in some kind of skincare effort, since her fingers still retained a silky lack of friction, smooth and soft.

She shook his hand gently, then twisted her fingers and let them remain entwined with his for a single lingering moment that mimicked a kind of intimacy which brought some heat to his neck. If he didn't know any better, then he might have mistook it for flirtation.

But man, who the hell would want to flirt with _me_ of all people?

When she retracted her hand, Cinder was still leaning over the table. She crossed her arms so that they folded over one another just under her breasts, making her bust more prominent than it otherwise would be.

It didn't seem like that comfortable a position, but Jaune had noticed long ago that girls always seemed to settle into weird spots. Like, Ruby always crossed her legs under her while sitting, and Amata would try to lay back on desks, or kick her feet up against the wall. Girls were just more bendy, at least more than he. So he wouldn't judge Cinder if she was gonna hike herself up like that.

However, it still required on his part no small amount of cordial willpower to avoid checking out her rack. He focused on her eyes instead.

"I'd love to spar against you myself," Cinder said.

"Why, so you can spy on me a little more?" Only half-joking.

"No, because I think you and I can have a lot of _fun_ together," she said while coyly twirling one lock of dark hair around her finger.

Hm, sparring is generally pretty fun… though this girl probably still has an ulterior motive. She definitely just wants to check out my abilities some more… but I could do the same, couldn't I? I mean, getting a feel for what she's capable of could certainly help out the team—

"Nope!" All of the sudden, Ruby was directly behind him, hands on his shoulders, and she'd wrenched him back, almost making him tip back out of his seat. "Sorry, but Jaune and I are working hard on stuff right now, special stuff, _secret_ stuff, okay? And he needs to keep working more with his team too, for the first mission and the tournament. Can't really make time for you." She smiled wide. "Sorry!"

What? But getting some more intel on the potential enemy was valuable, and even putting aside the Machiavellian undertones of his planning, Peach had told him it was a good idea to start prodding for more opportunities to be kind to people beyond his current friends, if not to make new friends than just to engage more socially. And he was well aware of his own penchant for paranoia, such that it could very well be possible he was just blowing out of proportion a reasonable and friendly offer. This was just the sort of effort he'd promised to Peach.

"Well, I could still probably—"

"Sorry Jaune, but I was actually thinking of upping our training schedule," Pyrrha said.

"Really?"

"Yes, I was talking about it with Nora and Ren earlier today."

"Huh, we were?" Nora asked, confused for a moment, before realization clicked in her mind, and she hurriedly smiled and nodded along. "Yup, I remember, a lot more training, and talking, and studying and stuff. More stuff. Right Ren?"

"Yes."

"Oh… well if I'm gonna be that busy, then sorry. Not sure I can make the time."

Cinder chuckled darkly.

"Not a problem, not a problem. Though if you ever have some spare time soon"– she slipped him a piece of paper across the table and winked –"just call me." With that, she rose from her seat, departing with her teammates following after. He didn't fail to notice how sensually her hips swayed.

He looked down at the scrap of paper in his hands, something she'd evidently prepared and had been keeping in her pocket. Black lettering displayed a full scroll-number, presumably hers. Hm, she must really want to see more of him in action, get a feel for him herself. Although, in all honesty, it was likely that she was just using circumlocution, that her real target was his own abilities or even Pyrrha, and she was trying to pry information out that way. Conniving, to be sure.

I mean, what other reason would she have?

He shook his head. Peach had told him to look on the brighter side of things... so maybe she really was just trying to be friendly? After all, the exchange students had only arrived a little while ago, so she could very well just be seeking some company for herself and her team, taking the lead in socializing in a way that he had never done. If he ever got the time, then maybe he would give her a chance.

After he finished making her a contact, he put his scroll away and looked back up, then felt some mild surprise upon seeing the others. Ruby had sat back down, and was now glaring into her cup of water, as if she wanted to murder the liquid inside. Yang was sending him a sidelong scowl from the corner of her eyes, whereas Weiss lack such finesse (or, more accurately, care for his perception) and scowled at him directly. Blake sighed and rolled her eyes before turning her attention once more to her book. Ren was as stoic as usual. Nora huffed and turned away from him. Pyrrha looked almost worried, biting her lip.

He eyed them all with growing confusion. Had something happened that he missed?

"What?" he asked.

* * *

"Well that's nice," Peach said. "Good line of thinking there Jaune. If you ever have some free time, then yeah, absolutely follow up on it. The more socializing you can get, the better." Peach smiled and clapped her hands. "Happy to see you're already doing your best to incorporate our lessons."

"Yeah, yeah I was thinking ack to what we've been talking about, what you've been teaching me," Jaune said. He absentmindedly toyed with the slinky in his hands. It was a new one that Peach had bought after he'd ruined the old one, still tinny and simple.

"Also, are you _absolutely sure_ she wasn't hitting on you?" Peach asked. "Because it honestly sounds like she was hitting on you, from what you said."

"Yes, I'm sure. She didn't give off any of those vibes at all."

Peach raised one eyebrow, but eventually wound up shrugging. "Alright. If she does try anything overtly romantic, let her down easy, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I will. Not like anybody but Ruby can really get my attention anyway."

"No, no they cannot," Peach said, laughing slightly. He was cute, he really was. Maybe, in time, he would get to live out his romantic desires.

For now, however, they had other things to attend to.

"I trust you've thought over what we talked about last session?"

Jaune stopped playing with the slinky. It rattled slightly as the last vestiges of prior energy died away in the form of minute movement, until it became still.

"Yeah, yeah I have." He sighed and shifted, laying back on the couch and adopting that most stereotypical position for all therapy patients. "I've thought it all over."

"Well then, let me hear it."

He closed his eyes.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

She'd told him that she would never judge him, ever. Time to put that to the test, huh?

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

"It all started right after I left home:"

I'd never seen the outside world before then. It was as amazing as it was scary. The sky, the dirt, the feeling of the breeze on my skin… it was all so new. I couldn't stop staring at everything around me. Every rock, every scraggly bush, every dirty cloud, every ruin. I was blown away by all of it.

Then I was shot.

It couldn't have been more than a few minutes that I spent outside my town, before I was shot in the shoulder. Christ, I can still remember how much that hurt. I hadn't felt anything that bad in… forever. It was the worst pain I'd ever known up to that point. I dropped to the ground and crawled to a nearby rock outcropping, where I propped myself up against a boulder and drew my pistol.

"Come on out pal!" I heard someone yell. It was a rough voice, mean sounding. "Not making nothing easier for yourself right now!" More bullets hit the rocks around me. "Come on out and let us shoot ye! Then maybe we'll kill you quick!"

I heard some other people laughing too, and I'd never been more afraid. The first thing to happen to me when I left home, the first step of my adventure, was for all of it to end, right then and there.

I couldn't let that happen. I became… simpler. I thought on instinct, do or die. Kill or be killed.

I peeked around the corner of the boulder, readied my gun and fired.

I'd never killed anyone before that. I'd needed to fight my way out of my village, but I hadn't killed anybody. I knew who they all were, had trained with them. I just ran our used my baseball bat to hurt them, disarm them. I just escaped.

Here, though, there would be no escape.

I saw that there were four of them. Two were armed with guns, another two were charging at me. I steadied my aim and fired. The two charging at me dropped. I kept pulling the trigger, but nothing more would come out. It was just clicking. I pulled back just before the others could get a good shot at me. That was when I started shaking. My hands, my body, my everything. I'm pretty sure it was from some combination of shock from my wound and shock from what I'd just done. But everything was going by so fast that I didn't have time to think, hesitate.

I tried to reload my gun, but with one arm feeling like it was on fire every time I tried to move it, it was hard. Not to mention: I really just couldn't stop shaking. I was afraid, too. I could hear them screaming at me, running, coming closer. I tried to breathe deep, calm myself. I managed to reload my gun just in time.

One of them came around the corner, and I fired desperately, wildly. I fired a couple rounds into his chest. He didn't die right away. No, he started gasping, wheezing. The look on his face… I don't think I'll ever forget it. Never.

He was terrified. He was in pain. He was… was dying.

I fired a few more times, and I was too shocked to be accurate with it… just firing. He collapsed— eventually.

I'll never, ever forget that.

The other one came around then, from the other side of the boulder. He raised his gun and I didn't have the time to raise my own.

Then there was a crack, and his brains were blown out. They splattered all over me while the rest of his body collapsed.

I couldn't think. I couldn't feel. It was like everything had all of the sudden just become nothing.

"You okay kid?" Someone asked me, the man who'd saved my life. A mysterious stranger. I wouldn't meet him again for a long time but…

Jaune sighed.

"That was the first time I ever killed anyone," he told Peach. "Wouldn't be the last, either."

He kept his eyes closed. He didn't want to see, didn't want to have the slightest inkling as to what her reaction would be, just that he could imagine—

"Oh Jaune, that's so terrible," Peach said. "I can't even imagine how painful that must have been for you."

He opened his eyes. He glanced over, and the expression on Peach's face was… hurt. It was that kind of empathetic pain, when one reaches out and mimics in some small way the pain felt by another by the natural human care for their kind.

Jaune sighed and brought his hand up to his shoulder, feeling the scar there. It was his first ever bullet wound. It would not be his last. "Getting shot wasn't too bad in the end, but yeah… it hurt a lot."

"That's not what I meant," Peach said. "I mean, taking another person's life…"

Is terrible, I know.

"It can be one of the most difficult, painful things for a human being to go through. Especially for someone like you."

"Someone like me? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Someone as caring and empathetic as yourself… I can't imagine the harm that experience did to you."

Caring and empathetic?

"Peach, I'm not so sure you're the most qualified judge of character…"

"And I'm not so sure you are either, young man." She crossed her hands over her chest. "Time and time again, over and over, you've shown a great trend towards compassion; to your friends, to strangers, to humanity as a whole. Someone like yourself… having to kill must have been horrendous. Everyone deserves to keep their innocence for as long as they can.

"And it makes sense, given the high standards you set for yourself and your strong moral direction, that you would feel guilty for that, that you would draw on killing as another source for self-hate. We need to defy that."

He… wasn't quite sure he was hearing her right.

"Wait… you… you don't think what I did was bad?"

"You were defending yourself. You were victimized Jaune, of course it wasn't a bad thing to do, though it's clearly traumatized you."

But that's not all of it…

"But that's—"

"The truth," Peach said. "The very fact that you feel bad for what you did is proof enough for your character."

Wait… was it? He scrunched his brow, thinking.

No, no Peach didn't know all of it, not how many and not how brutal it all had been. This… this first time… it was just the tip of the iceberg.

He was too afraid to tell her that.

"Okay…"

"Yeah," Peach said, "killing is a very, very hard thing to do, unless you're some kind of sociopath— which you certainly are _not_." She sighed, heavily. "It sounds like you've been forced through some very bad situations, Jaune."

You don't know the worst of it.

"But it's something that's sadly unavoidable for many in our field."

That perked his head up. "Have you…?"

"Yes."

"Oh…"

"I was on a detachment with another group of huntsmen a few years ago, providing relief to a few villages that were being struck by a Grimm migration. Some bandits got together to try and take advantage of the situation and… well, things turned out nasty.

"Many of the other staff here have as well. Oobleck likes to focus on ancient history because he's seen what people can do to each other, looks for answers for a better future by examining the past. Goodwitch and Ozpin have each faced down their fair share of non-Grimm foes. The only stories that Port doesn't tell are the ones where he has to deal with people. Huntsman and huntresses are charged with upholding the law, besides just killing Grimm. We wind up facing the most dangerous criminals.

"It's rough, for everyone. Taking a life damages all parties in one way or another."

"Yeah, yeah it does."

"This really helps explain some things," Peach said. "Well, with how much you talked about your homeland being awful, I could already somewhat assume this being the case.

"Still, thank you for telling me." She looked him directly in the eyes. "Really, that must have been hard for you, and I appreciated how you're willing to trust in me and the process." She smiled. "Thank you for committing."

He hummed but said nothing, allowed himself to feel some mild satisfaction at her praise.

He hadn't shared everything, not at all, but this was a start, wasn't it?

"Now we've already established that your past weighs on you so much… so how about we try to focus a bit more on the present for now?" Peach asked. "I can tell you over and over about how killing doesn't outright make you a bad person, but I understand you won't believed all of it; at least, not for now." She reached across her desk, picked up his notebook. "So how about we go through and review your positives, hm? Take a look at all the good things that have been happening to you in the last few weeks. We can spend the rest of this session just talking about all the nice things that have been happening, okay? Especially after you powered through that retelling."

"Yeah… yeah that sounds nice."

"Right, it's always good to focus on the present, since things are often going better than you think."

* * *

"You think he was just turning you down, or is he really that much of an idiot?"

"He appeared sincere, which puts him on the side of idiocy… either that, or he possesses more nuance than I anticipated," Cinder said. She sat with Emerald in their dorm, the shower currently running and Mercury annoyingly whistling a scratchy tune as he bathed.

"I'd bet on nuance. Someone good enough to get on the Commander's bad side can't be that blind," Emerald said. "And after what we saw him do against Mercury… yeah, he's definitely a good fighter. Got that confirmed."

"We already had it confirmed after the Commander told us," Cinder replied. "He's good enough a fighter to tell us when he sees another person of ability. No, Arc's prowess was never in question." She sighed and pulled out her scroll, opening up a file that showed everything they had on Jaune Arc, the 'Steve' who'd captured her attention so long ago. "By having Mercury fight him, I wanted to gleam some information on his semblance, but that seems an unknown still denied to us." She scowled. If only they could enter into Beacon's files again… but a security sweep had forced them to shutter their entryways to the system, with that useless Watts saying it would take time for them to infiltrate again.

"You still want to look into Nikos, too?" Emerald asked.

"No, we're shelving those plans," Cinder replied. "We should be able to influence whomever we need at Amity, and it's not worth the risk of tipping off Arc. He and his friends will surely buy the cover that I was simply flirting, but expanding our interest to others around him?"

"You really think he's that paranoid?"

"Haven't you seen the way he behaves?" Cinder asked. "Guarded, back against the wall, looking over his shoulder habitually, huddled, coiled a spring… except for when he's around his friends, which implies protectiveness." She shook her head. "No, better just to keep an eye on him and him alone. We _cannot,_ I repeat, _cannot_ , afford to let him slip through our grasp. He's currently the lynchpin we need to secure the Commander's loyalty."

Emerald nodded. What little she'd seen of the Commander and his operation had proven how industrious and useful he would be as an ally, especially with the White Fang being far more erratic and unreliable. Their prime goal for being undercover in Beacon anyway was just to secure the best position from which to sabotage the tournament, and that meant causing as little trouble as they could for now so as not to be discovered. That gave them little leeway with how much investigation could be managed, much of which naturally went towards the maiden. It was a good use of what time they could spare, keeping an eye on Arc. He was valuable.

"If I can't seduce him, then we can at least get as much information on him as we can," Cinder said. "Our efforts so far have already shown some interesting details…"

"Like Ruby Rose?"

"Exactly," Cinder chuckled. "That's the sort of thing we can exploit."


	25. Chapter 25

**I'm alive! Let's get to it!**

Jaune sat alone in his room, atop his bunk, flipping through a packet of papers. He mumbled out the tight writing as he read: "Be watchful for 'risk-states' which make one more susceptible to crisis moments. Such states are generally physical situations which inflict stress on the body, transitively inflicting stress on the mind. These states include hunger, sleep-deprivation, inebriation and the like. One will be more apt to succumb to emotions in risk-states, and any upsetting stimuli encountered while in a risk state will be especially difficult to deal with. One's reactions may be more extreme and potentially damaging. Eat well, rest appropriately and avoid all intoxicating substances to limit time spent in risk-states and promote overall mental stability and wellbeing."

He sighed and closed his eyes, taking a break to massage his temples, before turning back to the paper. Above the paragraph was a diagram visually depicting the risk-state chain being talked about, beginning in a risk-state, then presenting a negative stimulus, then following through a chain of behaviors that lead to unhealthy choices and eventually fallout once the 'emotional crisis' was over.

"Following a harmful reaction, one must interject at some point along the behavior chain. This is best achieved by utilizing metacognition to recognize environmental triggers and one's own common reactions to them… as well as immediate mindfulness exercises."

Again, he sighed and closed his eyes. All this reading was somewhat dry, especially compared to Peach's sessions, which she sought to make lively and interactive.

"I know it's a tough read," she'd told him, "and I also know you can get through it. We'll go over all of it here in our sessions, too, so don't worry if you don't get everything. Just tell me and we'll work it out."

Surprisingly, Peach's therapy had become as much a class as any other he'd taken at Beacon, what with reading assigned from textbooks and whatnot. There was a lot of complicated theory that had been worked out concerning all this, and Peach was determined to teach it to him. Or at least the parts that were relevant to his purposes. And that purpose? Dealing with his trauma.

The full extent of which he had yet to really admit.

Beyond the dry reading, it was something else entirely that made tired, a sense of guilt that had been weighing him down for days, its mass growing nearly every minute.

He hadn't told her the truth.

He'd promised Peach, promised his friends, promised himself, that he would give therapy his all. And yet he was still holding back. No one really knew what he had done.

Jaune threw the papers off the bed, and they fluttered chaotically to the floor. He covered his face and slumped to the side, pressing his face into the soft pillow.

* * *

"Alright team, I'm sure you're all wondering why you're here," she said.

"Yang, I swear if this is just another hair-brained scheme to get the answers to Oobleck's next test…"

"Weiss, don't be ridiculous," Yang replied. She shook her head and stamped across the room, flipping the lights off. "This is far more important than grades! Girls we gotta band together and stand up for what's right!"

Someone awkwardly cleared their throat.

"Okay, girls and Ren too."

Teams RWBY and JNPR were stuffed into RWBY's dorm. Well, most of RWBY and JNPR. Ruby and Jaune were conspicuously absent.

"Nora and I got together and had a bit of a talk," Yang said.

"Yup!"

"We determined that there is a crisis in our midst," Yang continued, "a crisis which requires our intervention!"

"The White Fang?" Blake asked.

"No silly, I already told you we're saving that for next week."

The faunus sighed and crossed her arms. She cast her bloodshot eyes to the side and crossed her arms, staring longingly at the closed door.

"We can save the terrorists for later, this is more important!"

Yang reached under her bed and pulled out a small portable projector, which she started setting up on her desk.

"Did you steal that from the teacher's supply closet?" Ren asked.

"Nope!" Nora cheerfully answered as she drew the curtains closed, leaving the room in darkness.

"Okay…"

"Hey, the ends justify the means, alright?" Yang said. She pressed a button on the projector and to shine a picture on the wall. It was a crude drawing of a heart, with the letters _R+J_ written on it.

"Oh my god…" Weiss mumbled. Her head fell into her hands.

"Nora approached me and came up with the idea of us taking a more active role in this," Yang said, smirk growing larger by the second. "My sis is too shy and Jaune is edgelord supreme. At this rate, they'll never get together!"

She pressed a button on the projector, switching to the next slide. It depicted some poorly drawn stick figures, one red and wearing a skirt, the other blue with no skirt.

"Nora was kind enough to provide illustrations for the display," Yang said. "So it's obvious to everyone but them that they're super into each other, right? Well, the goal of this is just to give them a little push in the right direction."

She pressed the button again, to the next slide. Now there were other stick figures, and they appeared to be physically shoving the original two together.

"This is just a dramatization, not like we're literally gonna push them at each other," Yang explained.

"I wouldn't have put it past you…" Ren muttered.

"Yeah, well we need to get involved, because the status quo is under attack!" Yang cried. "Recently, Jaune has spent less time and attention on Ruby; I know this 'cause she's complained about it to me."

She flipped to the next slide, now depicting a frowny face on the red stick-figure.

"And I think I know who's to blame!" Yang switched to the next slide, now depicting a black stick figure with a smile, but also a deep _V_ formed between the eyes, denoting an evil scowl. An arrow pointed to the figure, originating from a single word:

 _Cinder_

"This bitch!" Yang said, accusingly pointing at the crude drawing. "This… this thot! She's ruining everything by imposing her feminine wiles! Jaune and Rubes were practically made for each other, then this girl comes in looking for some man-meant, throwing everything down the gutter!"

She switched to the next slide. It depicted a map of Beacon, with various notes and stick figures drawn out on it, almost as if it were some sort of battle plan.

"In order to beat out her seduction, Nora and I have come up with an ingenious plan to put Ruby and Jaune into a situation that will all but guarantee—"

Yang stopped talking suddenly as the room's lights were flipped back on. She gasped and blinked, rubbing the abrupt pain from her eyes. "Alright, come on, you're killing the mood!"

"I'm killing a terrible idea," Ren said, shaking his head. He stepped in front of the light switch, bodily blocking it from Nora, who'd immediately darted in his direction and now recoiled with a pout.

"Ren, this is important!" Nora whined.

"It's a breach of privacy," he replied.

"C'mon, these guys are _never_ gonna get together on their own!" Yang said. She slammed one fist into her open palm. "I think it's high time for an intervention—"

"This is moronic," Blake said, exasperated and frustrated. She stamped to the door, flung it open and slammed it behind her.

"What!? No, Blake your stealth skills are crucial to the mission! Ugh!" Yang gripped her hair in her fists. "What are we going to do now?"

"Nothing," Pyrrha stated. Her voice was firm and not at all quiet. A command, coming from the usually endearing and non-confrontational girl who now stood with her hands on her hips, demanding attention from all in the room. For the first time in a while, she wore a scowl. "We're not going to go messing around in Jaune's life, not when he's in the place he is."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Ren said, "that he he's dealing with some things right now. He's spending a lot of time with Peach or studying what Peach is telling him to, or else he's training. He's even started meditating with us now, too. The last thing he needs is people meddling in his social life when he's just trying to focus on himself right now."

"I concur."

"Weiss!?" Yang exclaimed. "You too!?"

"Yes, me too," Weiss tutted. She gracefully pulled her head back, porcelain chin tilted in the air, refusing to accept a word from her errant teammate as she looked down her sharpened nose, a pose of pure, cold dismissal.

"Aw c'mon princess!" Nora said.

"It's not right to try and frame others' lives in the way you want them to be," Weiss said. She broke her stare and glanced to the side. "I… understand that."

Pyrrha sighed and hooked her arm around Nora's shoulder, drawing her teammate in for a half-hug. "I know that you just want Jaune to be happy, right?"

Nora chewed her lips and looked at the floor, before despondently saying, "Yeah."

"Well, he needs to do what he's doing right now. I think it's doing him a lot of good."

"And there's no need to worry about Cinder," Ren said. "He hasn't said a word about her. The only reason he's been less enamored with Ruby is because he's focusing more on his therapy and his lessons. It's doing him good."

"But…" Yang held up her hands, pleading for someone to take her side, and her face only fell when she saw the unwillingness of the others to go along. "Guys…"

Weiss sighed and stood, standing by her teammate's side and placing a hand on her shoulder. "You're just trying to be a good sister," she squeezed lightly, as much a display of support as her conservative nature could yet allow, "and that's a great thing. But you're used to tackling a problem head-on, taking it down, no room for finesse. This… isn't that kind of problem."

Yang clenched her jaw, angry for just a moment, before she sighed and let the tension go, bunched shoulders falling and fists loosening. "You're right…" She joined Nora's same depressed state, earlier excitement thoroughly killed. "It just sucks."

"Oh yeah."

"I just want things to be better already."

"We all do."

* * *

"So your real name is Max…"

"Was. Was Max."

"Was Max," Peach repeated with a nod. "That's fine—you can be whoever you want." She idly tapped one finger against her bottom lip, examining Jaune as one would an object or landmark well know, but that had only ever been seen from one specific angle; now she viewed him from a fresh vantage point. "It's a lot to take in, and I can't say I expected all that…"

"I'd be weirded out if you did," he said with a dry, humorless chuckle. In his hands again was the new slinky, which shivered in his shaky grip, releasing a tinny whine and rattle.

"Well," Peach clapped her hands and smiled, "I'm marvelously happy at how open you're being Jaune! Wonderful work!"

He couldn't suppress a small smile. Then he remembered the second part of his admission. That smile died.

"That's not it."

"Hm?"

"There's more that I haven't told you yet."

"Then go ahead, by all means."

"I…" He erratically shook the slinky in his hands. "Well, first you've got to understand—the wasteland is such a rough place. A lot… there are a lot of things you have to fight against. Hunger, dehydration, monsters… people. I've fought a lot of people."

Impatiently, he threw the slinky down on the couch beside him, then clasped them together, trying to make them stay still. Nevertheless, his fingers continued to shake slightly. He brought his hands behind his head, wrapped around the back of his neck, out of sight in what hopefully came off as a more relaxed posture. It didn't.

"I mean… the people back home were the real monsters. They'd torture you for fun, or kill you just because you weren't human, or even eat you." He dug his nails into the back of his neck, and his unprepared aura buckled before sudden force, letting his skin be scratched. "So…

"I did bad things too."

There was a silence. Peach watched him, gaze level and without judgement.

Suddenly, all the things that had been welling up inside him for so long started to escape, the long façade at last coming to an end.

His nails cut further into his flesh, drawing spots of blood. "I've killed a lot of people." He shook his head. He already felt tears welling up. "I hurt them, too. I hurt all of them." He screwed his eyes shut. "I just thought that, if the world was going to be so mean to me, take everything away from _me_ , then why shouldn't I just do the same thing? Right?"

He brought a hand to his face, his knuckles into his eyes, crushing preemptively tears that threatened to form there. The weight of it all, even before he managed to say it, was coming upon him.

"Everyone has something they're good at," he continued. "Right? My dad told me that, growing up. Everyone has something. One thing. They're better at it than anyone else." He let his hands fall limply into his lap, and then he stared down at them, those dirty hands.

"That's a pretty nice sentiment to have," Peach said. "Do you know what you're good at?"

Slowly, he nodded. "Yeah."

"What is it?"

"Hurting people."

There was a silence. What Peach thought, he could never know, but in his own mind echoed as always many images which he could never fully forget. Bodies burning. Blood flowing. Bullets flying. Faces seen and unseen, ripped to pieces, smothered by fire, crushed.

And he saw two kids who must have barely entered their teens.

"If the world was going to hurt me so much," he said softly, "then I'm going to be just as cruel. I learned pretty quick just how good at it I am."

"Jaune—"

"I would set people on fire. I would set people on fire and listen to them scream and I wouldn't feel bad about it. I never did… never. I used Crocea Mors to saw people apart, and I'd listen to them die and get covered in their blood and I wouldn't feel bad about it. I'd blow people's brains out even after they'd given up and I never felt bad about any of it because I hated them so much. It's not like there were any jails to stop them… or me."

Something sharp and painful lodged in his throat, as if he were choking on a clump or razors.

"I never bothered taking count. But it must be at least a hundred. More than that. Hundreds. I dunno. I've killed more people than grimm."

His face became red; his eyes, wet.

"And I never felt bad about it," he said, voice not much more than a pained whisper. "I never liked it but I did it because I was so angry and I didn't care about them. But now"– he shook his head –"now I still see it all. I see it when I sleep. I see when I'm awake. Everyone tells me to move on but it all still feels so real. It all feels like it's right in front of me. How can I move on when it's right in front of me? And behind me? All around me? Everywhere?"

"Jaune—"

"It's everywhere!" he shouted, throat spiking in the effort. Tears flowed freely now. "Everywhere!" He slapped his hands against his own chest, with enough force to sting the skin and rattle the bones in both his fingers and his ribs. "No rest for the wicked right?"

Peach's eyes were wide. Her mouth was slightly agape. She looked at him, and her own immediate disbelief turned slowly into horror as she realized the scope of her client's difficulty.

"Shh," Peach gently sounded. She rose from by desk and strode across the room. As Jaune's head sank low, chin resting on his chest and eyes screwing shut, she sat beside him. "You're not wicked."

"But—"

"Bad people do bad things and then don't feel bad about it later. Wicked people enjoy their work, or at least feel no need to repent." She laid one hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently.

Some small part of his mind was very glad to have that little touch. Happy, that something out there was caring for him now.

"I never thought that you would have gone through so much… horror." She shivered. "I can't imagine getting through all that."

"Stop it!" he yelled, moving away from her. "Stop acting like there's nothing wrong with me! You say that and you say it and it's not true! This isn't okay!"

"No, no it's not," Peach said calmly. She pursed her lips for a moment, choosing her words carefully. "And despite the acts, you do have a choice over what you do next. This all occurred in a brutal wasteland, a place beyond civilization. You have a unique chance in that you've progressed beyond that, to a new environment with a fresh start; that's what you wanted, right?"

He shook where he sat, but through it he was able to muster a small nod.

"Well it's what you have. You've got the most brilliant chance now to reinvent yourself—no, no you're not reinventing yourself. You're just becoming who you _really_ are, in an environment that lets you achieve that."

He shook his head; her words hung all around him, like mosquitos that zipped and stung.

"Hundreds," he said, "it must be hundreds even if I don't know how many it must be so many, so many…" A flood fell upon him, the gates now released, memories that were part real and part imagine and entirely painful. He saw faces before him, faces whole and faces ripped apart, faces with slashes and burns, faces scowling and faces crying. Then he saw two.

A boy and a girl, both young, younger than him. Both innocent, both with their whole lives ahead of them.

"I killed them…" he murmured.

"Jaune, living in a brutal place like that, even doing brutal things… it's never too late to reform. Never. There are very few absolutes in this life, but that is one of them."

"No…"

"Jaune—"

"I killed them!" he suddenly yelled. This time, he didn't give Peach a moment before the damning words that had plagued his mind for what seemed like so long were finally spoke aloud for the first time: "They were kids and I killed them!"

Then it hung there, the same overpowering silence that sometimes suffocated him while he tried to sleep at night, a reek of guilt.

"I came to this little town," he said. He couldn't remember the name; he'd never asked. But now that town appeared all around him, inside of that very room, seeming just as real to him as the couch he sat or Peach who sat beside. The rusted and dingy huts cobbled together with scrap and garbage, valued at least for having roofs. The ground beneath was brown and dusty. The stench of brahmin waste wafted in from nearby pens. The people there were covered in grime and had hollow, downcast faces.

He asked them what was wrong, for he'd gotten good at recognizing when a particular distress had punctured the wasteland's usual malaise of misery.

"There were bandits," he said, staring ahead, staring at the person who'd told him the story, the person who seemed to stand before him now, looking real enough for him to reach out and touch. "They'd told me that some bandits had come to the town and taken all their food and money… so I just asked where they'd gone, then went on my way."

He stared ahead of him, seeing now a dim horizon, the same smoggy line that had hovered before him day in and day out back on earth. Forever wandering. He no longer felt like he was in Peach's room. He felt like he was somewhere far away.

"The whole world was just so black white," he said, voice slowing down, becoming monotone. Tears ran silently down his cheeks as he soullessly elaborated. "Everybody who gets in my way is the bad guy, and I'll do whatever I want to them."

He saw it now, more alive before him than anything else around. He saw the camp, nestled into the side of a blasted out old factory. He saw himself raising the gun. He even mimicked the action there in Peach's office, bringing his hands up as he were still holding Metal Blaster, finger crooked and bent around the trigger. He squeezed it, and he heard the shots firing.

"There were a bunch of them, and I turned some to ash pretty quick. They hadn't seen me coming—I'd jumped from around the corner. It was all a part of the plan; I drove them back into the tight nook of their camp, all close together. Then I pulled out a grenade and hurled it as fast as I could—"

And he saw it once more, all of it unfolding before his eyes. Tears trickled down his blank, tired face, eyes wide and unblinking.

"Then they came out. Must have been sleeping. Or hiding. I don't know. Two kids. Maybe ten to twelve or something like that. Kids. I don't why they were there; maybe they'd been kidnapped; maybe they'd been raised into it; maybe, maybe, maybe… I dunno.

"But they were too young for this. I saw the fear on their faces that innocent sad fear and I knew it that they were still just kids at heart." He brought his hands to his face, hiding it from the rest of the world; he screwed his eyes shut but still the terrible scene unfolded before him. "I saw them get blown to pieces. _I_ blew them to pieces."

The girl's face had been torn off, chunks of it flying away down the street as her bare and mangled skull remained precariously attached to a mauled body. Here intestines poured out of a great rent in her gut, skin ripped open across her body. The boy was even worse off. Both his legs torn off, he'd been propelled back, fully endowed with shrapnel and smoke.

"Jaune?"

Then he was back in the office, Peach's face before him.

"Jaune, are you okay?"

He blinked. At that moment… he felt something terrible in his chest. It was a curious feeling, as if there were simultaneously something incredibly heavy lodged there in his core, while also being nothing at all. A great weight, with a great hollowness.

"I was stupid, and I didn't care, and I blew a couple of kids to smithereens." He Looked down at his right hand, the one that had thrown the grenade. He stared at his guilty fingers, their swirling prints twisting and winding like so many bizarre little paths that he could never trace, mazes upon mazes. He squeezed. He grabbed it with his left hand.

His hand shook as he squeezed and squeezed, tightening a vice grip around the instrument of murder. He squeezed and didn't even recognize the mounting pain from the increasing pressure.

Suddenly his wrist bent at an odd angle and a _crack_ wrung throughout the room.

"Jaune!" Suddenly Peach was before him, and she effortlessly pulled his arms apart, her matured strength greater than his own. "Don't hurt yourself, don't ever hurt yourself! When you hurt yourself, you hurt your friends and you hurt me, too!"

He blinked and looked back and forth between his twitching hand and Peach's horrified face, and suddenly it all washed onto him; he suddenly remembered again where he was, what he'd done and what he was doing. He also felt the terrible pain in his wrist now.

"I… I didn't mean to. I didn't…"

His voice cracked, and suddenly he bent over double, wracked with sobs, hardly able to get out a few words: "I never meant it! Never!" He fell forward, head landing against Peach's shoulder as he leaned into her fully, and she on her part enveloped him in a hug. It was all he could do, let out all the horror of that event and all the horror he felt for the things he'd done and the things he'd seen in this small way, releasing the pain he could.

"It's okay," Peach crooned, voice soft and pandering. "It's okay now, all okay. You aren't there, not back in the wasteland, not back in the past." She cradled him like one would a child, and she patted his shoulder gently. "It's all okay now. Everything will be alright. It wasn't your fault."

The tension gradually seeped from his body, as his face became wet with tears and snot. Emotions and mind exhausted themselves after a few minutes, raging like a fire until nothing but ash remained, and he was a silent, limp figure in Peach's arms.

"Everything's okay," she repeated.

Then the two of them sat there in silence for a while, before Jaune finally moved again. He cradled his fractured wrist, now burning like an ember in pain. He shook his head.

"It's not okay. What I did wasn't okay. Don't lie to me and say that it is."

"That's not what I'm doing," she said. "I'm just saying that the horrors of the past are in the past. Your guilt threatens to rip you apart, rip apart everything you've built here. I don't like dealing in absolutes, but this is true: if you can't confront the past, how can you survive the present and take hold of the future?

"But this is amazing, Jaune. _So_ amazing." She leaned back, just enough for him to see her smile. "I'm incredibly proud of you, your strength. Letting this out, having enough trust in me and the system and enough care for yourself." Her smile widened. "Your wonderful."

"But I'm a murderer. How can you say any of that?"

"Your life was thrown into a catastrophe, tragedy after tragedy. You survived it… even that horrible accident." Her eyes became downcast, as undoubtedly she envisioned some of his heinous encounters. "But you've got your life ahead of you. You can reform into a life that's happy, where you can do good and help people. Stake a new purpose."

"But… someone needs to do something to me." His shoulders shook as he stared blankly at the floor. His mind was mostly numb by now, coldly clinking together words like links in a simple chain. "I always thought I someone should just kill me soon… after losing my team and doing all that. It's what I deserve."

"You deserve so much more than that," Peach said, patting his head gently.

"I've killed so many people… hurt them all…"

"It's never too late to change. Even that horror… even those two kids. You've already changed. Be careful and compassionate. You _can_ leave a positive stamp on the world, Jaune. No matter what you do, you can make things better."

He blankly looked down, face still without expression. The tears on his cheeks were now drying. "Shouldn't I be arrested?"

"I have no idea how anyone would start to build a case again you, since this all happened so far away in backwater Vacuo. Even then, who would prosecute a child soldier?" She tilted his chin up, so he could look her right in the eyes. Her smile was small and sad, but sincere. "Especially one with such a good heart."

Surprisingly, that only made him laugh. Bitter, weak laughter.

"Good heart?"

He pressed his good hand against his chest, felt under the ribs something heavy and foreign and gross.

"Heart…" He just shook his head.

Peach reached out and placed her hands over his own. "Things in this world don't happen for good reasons. I can already feel the survivor's guilt coming on. Your team wasn't supposed to live and you weren't supposed to die. It just happened. Radically accept, Jaune. Things happen, and there's nothing we can do about that, you know?"

He nodded slightly.

"You did what you did. Terrible things, maybe. But that's gone now. There's no way for you to change it, not at all. You can keep looking for punishment, but I think you'll find that you won't ever be satisfied with whatever you find. When it comes to existential searches like this, people are rarely satisfied with what they get." She patted his hands gently, comforting. "All that happened, has happened. Say that with me, Jaune. Please, say it."

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

"What happened," he said, voice shaken and nearly invalid, "has happened."

"Things happen."

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

"Things happen."

"They're no one's fault."

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

"They're no one's fault."

"They're not mine."

"They're not mine."

"All I can do, is recognize and move on."

"Recognize and move on…"

"Everything you did… all of it can be redeemed. The actions in that environment don't reflect you as a person. All the terror, and the loss, and the pain… all just things that happened. That's it. Like leaves getting blown in the wind, or rivers rushing to the sea, or trees growing and falling. All just things that happen."

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

"Things that happen…"

"Confront the past. Survive the present. Take hold of the future," she said, "that's our goal, alright?"

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

"Okay."

She smiled. "Good—now come on, let's get you to the nurse."

* * *

The second she unlocked the door, Nora stepped back and kicked it with enough force to crack a beawolf's skull. It slammed open with a meteoric _crash!_ "Hello hello guess who's back?" she yelled at the room and its only occupant.

Jaune was alone, lying flat on the floor.

In response to her absurd entrance, he lazily tilted his head to glare at her; however, said 'glare' thoroughly lacked any malice and instead appeared more like a disarmed squint.

"Hi," he said.

"Watcha doin' down there?" Nora asked she slammed the door shut behind her.

"I'm tired, but I don't want to go to sleep. Just want to lie down."

"Why not on a bed?"

"Bed's too soft. The floor is hard… and for some reason, that's better right now." He raised one hand and limply slapped the tough carpet he'd collapsed onto. "Firm."

"Hmmmmmmmmmmmm," Nora dragged out the single syllable far longer than it had any right to go. She stomped on the floor, as if needing to confirm that, yes, it was indeed pretty tough. That's when she noticed something a little off: "What happened to your wrist?"

"Fell down the stairs, tried to break my fall, mostly worked," he said while brandishing the splint bound to his wrist. "I just have to wear this tonight. Should be good again after I wake up tomorrow." Then he pointed with the same hand to his desk, on which was a white paper bag. "Hopefully that stuff'll help out."

"Oooh, what is it?" Nora asked as she skipped across the room. She leaned over and peered at the unmarked bag.

"Medicine," he said. "Supposed to calm your nerves. That psych Peach sent me too prescribed it. I took some now, actually. Can only take two a day, so I'll take the next before bed. Probably part of why I'm like this. Or, well… I was just pretty tired anyway."

"Uh-huh," Nora hummed as she poked the bag. "Something bad happen?"

"Just a… _demanding_ session with Peach. All good though. Progress."

Nora's smile widened. "Progress!" She said, then leapt into the air and flopped onto the floor beside him.

He squinted, confused. "And what are you doing now?"

"Chillaxing on the floor," she replied, stretching out her arms and turning over, getting into a comfortable position on her back, still near him. "I mean, you looked so snug down here that I thought I'd join you. 'Sides, I just got out of a study-hall sesh with Ren and Pyr, so my brain's fried. Though those two are still at it… crazy-heads. Who could ever like school so much to actually _try?"_

Jaune chuckled, then closed his eyes once more while Nora yawned. The atmosphere had suddenly become even more lethargic. But it was a lot warmer now, too.

"Thanks," he said.

"Don't mention it."

* * *

"What'd you say this was for?" he asked. The mechanic's words were made plump by the wad of gum he chewed as he spoke, while also shuffling through a few papers, smudging them all with the grease on his fingers. Such was the state of affairs in the chaotic machine shop, that nearly everything had some smearing of grease, motor oil or associated fluids and powders. The spare parts, the tools, the old computers, the people. Workers toiled in the background, wielding wrenches and welders and laboring away, creating a cacophony of metal burning and metal crashing and metal riveting. Littered with half-built machines and scrap, the cramped garage was like personal little mess of a factory.

"Specialized construction equipment," said a man looking quite out of place in that environment. He wore a stiff suit and treaded carefully so as not to stain his shoes or pants on any puddle or grimy surface. His nose had been perpetually crinkled due to the stench of smoke and oil and sweat.

"Construction, eh?"

"Yes, for safety and capability. Gives greater back support while lifting and moving, helps a person carry heavier loads," the suited man replied. He licked his lips after he spoke, pink tongue pulsing out his mouth for just a second. "Very helpful."

The mechanic scratched the stubble on his neck as he reviewed the schematics, which seemed to be a kind of exoskeleton. "But this looks like just a frame."

"Well yes, my client is quite worried about design leaks, so we're having multiple manufacturers making the component parts." Again, his tongue crossed over his lips before he spoke once more: "We've got a small assembly back in Mistral where we'll put the parts together into the final product. Aside from security over the design, that also lets us claim the equipment is Mistral made and we avoid a whole host of tariffs while reaping the benefit of lower production costs in specialized Valean shops."

"Ha! Tricky! I like that I do I do." He slapped the man's shoulder in a comradely way.

The suited man shivered as he glanced down and realized that his pristine jacket now had a smear of oil on it.

"No problem, we can get this done in a jiffy. How many ya want?"

"Twenty, to start."

"To start?"

"Yes." He licked his lips. "We're planning on some aggressive expansion."

* * *

 **Oh boy, ominous creepy dude inspired by that lip-licking guy from Tale of Two Cities (which I haven't read in years, but still like that character).**

 **And I've been gone for a while. There are a few reason for that. For one, I wrote and edited my own original novel. I'm trying to get it published and may eventually announce what it is here if I ever get it really done. It's a hundred thousand words long, so it took a lot of time. Also, I just sorta got estranged writing this, since I don't really like the way that canon RWBY has gone. I also feel really unconfident about the part where Jaune finally opens up here to Peach about the horrible shit he did, so that really delayed my willingness to post this.**

 **Anyway, I'm also announcing a greater departure into AU on the side of RWBY here. I already took a lot of liberty with the fallout backstory, primarily through the addition of Bishop and a few in-universe things to better set this up and make sense of things; however, I kept the story pretty much intact. That won't be the case for RWBY, as I intend to radically change a lot of the major plot points and character backgrounds to fit my own needs. I just don't really want to go the same route as canon.**

 **I am NOT claiming that the changes I make are meant to make the canon RWBY story 'better' or anything like that, just that there's a creative difference between what I like to do and what the writers at RT want to do. I tend to be more realist and grounded, explore different themes. This is also a crossover, and I want to more fully utilize that fact. As such, I'll be making changes. I'm gonna list them off here for you to read if you want, but if you don't want to be spoiled about the changes, then skip the section below. This will include no spoilers about the direction of the story or major events, just changes I'm making to canon. I'll explain it all along the way in-story so you can experience it that way too.**

 **SPOILER**

 **SPOILER**

 **SPOILER**

 **-Salem is no longer an immortal ancient being, but a woman with a semblance for 'grimm affinity'. She still, however, has a bone to pick with Ozpin in particular for reasons to be later revealed.**

 **-Ozpin is no longer a wizard, but a guy with a semblance that lets him manipulate auras, souls, semblances that stuff, all interlocked. That's what lets him change up Qrow and Raven's semblances to allow them to also be birds while enabling him to also transfer his own soul. Really, I just want to get away from the word 'wizard' and magic stuff, staying with the established laws of semblances.**

 **-The four maidens were actually Ozpin's daughters (not with salem, she is a recent human) whom he had. They each had weather-associated semblances, and he tried to make them immortal but only succeeded in making their semblance transferable through hollow, wandering souls that need new hosts.**

 **-No gods at all**

 **-Relics no longer from the gods. They're entirely different.**

 **All of this is done to keep things more 'grounded' in that magic and gods and higher powers aren't involved, so much as humans competing with one another in the physical world. Granted, semblances are definitely 'magic' in our sense, but it's more of a hard magic system that has more order and laws than just the wanton wizard and maiden stuff. Again, not meant to be critical to Miles, Kerry and the like, just creative differences.**


	26. Chapter 26

**We're back with everyone's favorite reforming male tsundere!**

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

Idle emotion and thought faded and disappeared, leaving behind nothing but his perception of the physical realm. Detail seemed crisp and clear, and time itself nearly slowed as he saw and heard it all with a greater clarity, mind absent of anything but the mechanics of physical observation and attention. It was in that state that he stared down his target. He pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

He pulled the trigger again, but again, nothing happened. The shooting range was filled with live fire, with other stalls taken by students testing out or practicing their own weapons. Each pulled the trigger and shot, except for him.

He shook his head and stepped back from the booth. He popped out the canister of electric dust they got, only to see that it hadn't gone through any change. Ruby peeked over his arm, then scowled.

Welp, time to call it quits for the day. He and Ruby both wore protective headphones (a safe-guard to which he was unaccustomed but not resistant). He waved to her, then pointed to the exit. She nodded, and after Jaune stuffed the yet inoperative Crimson Arc into his duffel bag, they departed.

The left the range and entered the lobby instead, leaving the sound of gunfire muffled behind them as the door slid shut. They walked towards the lobby's desk, taking off their headphones as they did.

Ruby sighed. "I though it would finally work… I got all excited to see lightning."

"Same," said Jaune. He tsked and looked down at his duffel bag, in which the busted rifle stull lay.

"Maybe an issue with the dust extractor pin?" Ruby asked while Jaune pressed a button on the display screen at the desk. A sleepy looking security guard only vaguely payed attention to them as they signed out.

"Maybe," he said as they walked out of the lobby and into the hall. They then headed back to their rooms while continuing the conversation, passing by the Beacon armory and going up stairs as they headed up into the academy itself and then towards the dorm wing. "That's the first thing we should look at, but the trigger mechanism is already cramped…"

Ruby groaned.

"Yeah," Jaune agreed, shaking his head. "It's always the finicky little bits that cause the most trouble."

"Yup… devil's in the details." Ruby furrowed her brow. "Well, I've got to go do something with the team later, so I better go prep with them now."

"Yeah? What it is?"

"Er, remember how I said that Blake is having a hard time sleeping, and getting all moody?"

"Yeah," he said, "gonna try and set her straight?"

"Something like that," she said, nervously rubbing her hands together. "We're going to go out and do some stuff in Vale… y'know, just team stuff, hang out a bit, get dinner, take in the sights. Just want to cheer her up, you know?"

"Sounds nice," he said. "Can I borrow your game system when you're gone, if you're gonna be out all day?"

"Totally," she replied. "You can keep it for the night; we might be out for a while."

* * *

YOU DIED

"Fuck!"

Nora cuffed him swiftly, smacking him with an open palm on the back of the head. "Watch that mouth, mister! What, your daddy never teach you manners?"

Jaune sighed as the game reloaded, the imperious red words mocking him: YOU DIED. He turned away from the tv and glared at Nora, sat just beside him on the bed. "My daddy taught me many manners thank you very much," he replied with a scowl. "It's just that a few nasty words every now and again make this terrible suffering we call life a little bit more bearable."

Nora chuckled—then she suddenly shoved him off of the bed.

"Ack!"

"Well whatever, my turn now!" She snatched the controller for herself, then rapidly pressed the buttons on it, trying in vain to make the loading screen hurry up and respawn their character. She now gave all attention to the tv they'd rented from the Beacon supply store, placed in the middle of their room. They sat on Pyrrha's bed like it was a couch.

It was now well into the night, and Jaune and Nora had been trading the controller back and forth for a few hours, end not in sight. And since it was the weekend, there didn't really have to be an end any time soon, did there?

"Come on kids, be nice to each other," Pyrrha said, lecturing down to them from her spot on the top punk, beside Ren. Neither of them had any interest in playing themselves, so they'd each taken perches from which to watch and chat without being in the way.

"Oh, finally embracing your status as mom-friend, huh?" Nora teased as her character finally loaded in, ignoring Jaune's indignant mumbling as he pulled himself off the floor.

"Someone has to keep you two from wreaking havoc," Ren said, voice as dry as ever. "Both of you are the most irreverent people I've ever known."

"Hey, laws are just suggestions," Jaune said. "Right Nora?"

"Yup!" she happily cheered, pressing a button so her character on screen leapt in the air, then crashed back down, driving their spear into the ground and sending out a shockwave that annihilated the horde of Grimm she'd thrown herself into.

"Damn that was cool," Jaune mumbled, already forgetting any ill feelings. "This beats Grognak's text adventure by a million miles…"

It was at that moment that Pyrrha flicked her wrist, and the cabinet beside her bed rattled. The metal handles shook, faintly covered in a dark aura. Then the shelf was pulled out seemingly by an invisible hand. A can of grape soda levitated from the open cabinet, then flew through the air and toward Pyrrha's open hand.

"Crap! Crap! Crap!"

 _YOU DIED_

"CRAP!" Nora shouted as her character was ripped to pieces by an immense Beowulf.

The sudden outburst attracted Pyrrha's attention for a moment, distracting her just long enough for the can of soda to waver in the air. It struck the bedframe before her hand at an odd angle, cracking open the top and spilling out a gout of purple pop.

"Ah shit!" Jaune yelped as soda poured down and splashed onto his shirt.

"Oh no!" Pyrrha gasped, horrified. She quickly grabbed the can before more could spill out, but the damage was already done. "I'm sorry!"

"It's fine," Jaune said. He even smiled, for it was honestly a little funny. Heck, Nora certainly wasn't holding back her own laughter at his misfortune. Even Ren smirked.

But the Invincible Girl was inconsolable: "I'm sorry!"

"Really, it's' fine," he repeated, already head toward his own drawers for a fresh shirt. "It's just a bit of soda… shouldn't leave a stain after just a normal wash… I hope." He pulled open the drawer, which held many crisp, well-folded t-shirts in various shades of blue. He'd expanded his wardrobe a little since coming to Beacon, even if the color was all the same. He'd decided that, since everybody else was doing it, he might as well pick one color and make it his own. Blue was a shade not all that common in the wasteland, for the sky and seas were so thoroughly polluted, and the paint was all long gone.

The shirts were neatly organized and folded, perfectly clean. He'd come to quite enjoy doing the laundry, since there was something oddly satisfying about having a bunch of _nice_ clothes that were all _clean._ He hadn't realized just how good it felt to walk around in fresh cotton that wasn't stained and crusted by sweat, dirt and blood.

He shuffled into the bathroom and closed the door behind him, then pulled his shirt over his head. It wouldn't have been weird for him to just change real quick outside in front of his team, if only it weren't for one little thing: the scars.

Ren had questioned why he always went to a shower stall to change, or why he'd worn a swimshirt that one time they'd all went to the pool. He'd simply answered that he was shy, and to some extent that may have been true.

Jaune threw the stained shirt on the floor, leaving his torso bare to the open air. He caught a glance of himself in the bathroom mirror and couldn't help but observe the proof of his adventures for a just a moment:

Across his stomach and chest swelled little patches of flesh where bullets had once torn into his skin, maybe five in all. Aside from that, a few nasty slashing scars showed where crudely-armed raiders and animals had cut him. By far the most shocking wound, however, was a series of long slashes across his back, ten and all. Whips are vicious.

But there was one scar here that distinguished itself: it was a perfectly vertical scar that was neat and straight, much less vicious in appearance than any of the others. It crossed down the middle of his chest.

Jaune quickly looked away, then pulled his shirt on and walked back out to the room.

"Hey Jaune," Ren said, "I didn't mean to snoop, but I just saw these up here by your pillow." He raised a few polaroid photos in his hand.

"Oh yeah—"

"Crap!" Nora said, cutting him off as she died once more.

Jaune only chuckled, before shaking his head and continuing: "Yeah I was looking at those earlier… dunno why, just a little nostalgia. I usually keep them in my locker but… saw them again today and brought them back to look at."

"Oooooh, I wanna see, I wanna see!" Nora excitedly shouted, pausing the game and bouncing where she sat. "More of your super mysterious past, revealed!"

"There's really nothing special about my past," he lied. "I was just a mercenary in the Vacuo wastes for a wild."

"Well regardless, tell us about these photos," Ren said, climbing down from the top bunk to hand them off. Pyrrha came down behind them, and then all four sat on the edge of Pyrrha's bed, then eyed the photos.

"This first one is just me and my dad when I was little," he explained, pointing to one picture that looked especially worn, being creased and wrinkled. "You can see me there with my bb gun, and that's my dad." A smile easily slid onto his face as the old memory embraced him once more. "I can still remember shooting the roaches whenever they got loose…"

"Ew, roaches are the worst," Nora said. "But you were such a little cutie pie!"

"Thanks?"

"And what's this other one?" Pyrrha asked, pointing at the picture just beside it, one of a significantly older Jaune, though young enough that he didn't yet have the scar on his eye.

"That's me and my old friends. John, Jane and Dogmeat." He pointed to each in turn, one of the twins on either side of him, both proudly brandishing their rifles and smiling. His loyal hound sat just in front of him, tongue out and tail blurring, mid-wag. "Fawkes is there, too. You just can't see him because he's taking the picture."

Thank god for that. I have no idea how I'd be able to explain _him_ to them… maybe as some kind of giant lizard faunus?

"He was a giant lizard faunus."

"Ooh, got a pic of him?" Nora excitedly asked.

"Sadly, no," he replied with a chuckle. "But I do have this picture of me and Moira." He pointed to the last photograph, which showed a rather nonplussed young Maxwell with Moira's face pressed up against his own. She sported a massive grin while taking the selfie. "She was so proud of making her own camera from scratch, and I was the only person willing to take a picture with her…"

"Aww, that sweet!"

"Yeah, she was nice. Really weird… but really nice, nice and hopeful." Something in his voice, something a little wistful, a little sad, stopped any of them from asking what had happened to her. "A shame she's gone, since she made the world better."

Despite the words, he was smiling. The expression was one part real and one part faked. A voice inside demanded he be happy, for he had had the chance to know all these people, the chance to laugh with them and love them. Another voice told him that he had failed them, and that if only he were strong enough, they would all still be alive and well.

But then he remembered also what Peach had told him: things go wrong in a million ways, and never are they all because of you.

So his smile widened a little bit. Just a bit.

"But hey, that's all in the past," he said. He stuck the photos in his pockets and, armed with a fresh idea, decided to beat back the sudden, rather depressing atmosphere. "Let's live in the now, right? Group photo!"

"Yippee!" Nora quickly hooked her arms around both Pyrrha's and Ren's necks, dragging them close so they could all fit into frame. This only made Jaune smile more: Nora was the best person to have around whenever you wanted to drop a rough subject and move on.

So he turned on the scroll's camera, reversed its direction into selfie mode (a feature he'd only recently discovered) and lined it up so that he and his best friends were all there, together. Nora smiled as wide as she possibly could, while Ren politely grinned and Pyrrha turned her head to the side and smiled in that well-practiced way that celebrities do. Jaune just smiled and pressed the button, capturing the moment, a good moment.

Then his phone buzzed, and a notification appeared onscreen, the result of his breaking news app:

 _Mech Battle on the Highway!_

* * *

Ruby hummed, a smile still on her face as she marched down the hall. Sure, the police report had been long, and sure, Miss Goodwitch's lecture had been horrifying, and sure it was super late and she was dead tired, but hey, a mech fight! Easily the most awesome thing she'd done in her life thus far. Not only that, but info and progress on the white fang's plans were now in their hands! A true huntress, she already was… and Ozpin seemed fine with it, so they didn't even get detention!

Ruby lead the pack back to their dorm, with all of RWBY marching triumphantly through Beacon's halls. No one was awake at this hour to see them, but no doubt their awesomeness would be well known by tomorrow, and they took pride in it already. Weiss strutted with her chin held high. Yang massaged her hand, bruised by her punch to the mech, but a dumb grin was still plastered on her face. Even Blake seemed rejuvenated and cheery, a smirk still on her lips.

Ruby couldn't stop herself from skipping down the last hall. She probably shouldn't go and wake up team JNPR, but Jaune had said they'd be staying up late playing anyway, right? And they'd certainly wake up quick to hear the story!

So it was without hesitation that she stopped in front of their door and knocked. Then she knocked again, and again, and—

"Stop that!" Weiss said, slapping her hand. "They're probably dragging themselves out of bed, you little ingrate."

Ruby responded only be sticking out her tongue, just as the door opened.

"Oh. Hey." Pyrrha had opened the door, and she now stood bleary eyed in her pajamas. "Jaune's not here."

"Oh, well—"

"And yes, I know where he is," she said, cutting off her rather predictable question. "But I wouldn't go try to talk with him right now, since he's in a bad mood. Went to go blow off steam in the gym, prob ably still in the showers if he's not back yet."

"Oh, what happened—"

"He saw the video of you fighting that robot and… was not very happy."

Her heart dropped.

"He… well, he thinks it was a stupid and dangerous decision and wishes you'd left it to the professionals." Pyrrha winced. "He sorta… yelled that. No, not really yelled… just raised his voice a bit. Just a bit."

"What?"

Seeing the look on Ruby's face, Pyrrha mustered her own smile. "Don't worry, your fight _was_ awesome. Jaune is… only mad because he's worried. He doesn't want any of his friends being hurt."

"Oh…" And suddenly, Ruby felt even worse. Of course he'd take this hard; all his old friends were dead. Killed by doing crazy stuff like they had.

"Just wait 'til tomorrow. Then I'm sure he'll be fine to talk."

Nora appeared beside Pyrrha, eyes bloodshot from being woken up, eyelids slid halfway down. She held the borrowed game-station, which she wordlessly passed onto to Pyrrha, before turning back and, like a zombie, stumbling back to her bed. She pulled the blankets over herself and snuggled in beside a little wooden hammer. Instantly, she went back to sleep.

Pyrrha giggled at the sight of her catatonic teammate, the smile lingering. "Don't worry, it's all alright. We can all talk more tomorrow. Good night, and rest well." She passed on the game system, then closed the door.

Ruby held the console and controls in her arms, all her elation now fully annihilated.

* * *

The garden was pretty. She tried to focus on that rather than the fear within. Ruby had always appreciated the flowers and the cherry blossom tree and the light breeze that often swept through Beacon's garden, but now she payed them all an undue amount of attention, nervously tapping her fingers together as she counted the petals on a nearby daffodil.

 _J: Can you meet me in the garden? I wanna talk_

 _R: Okay_

Such was the last conversation on her scroll, the last words she's shared with him. Oh god, what does he—

A sharp, painless pain suddenly tapped against the back of her neck while she was distracted.

"Ack!" She leaped from the stone bench and frantically turned around, only to see _him_. The smile he wore made her fear melt away.

"Got this for ya," he said, holding out a little tub of strawberry ice cream.

Her lips formed a smile to match his, and then she reached out and took it from him, the ice-cold treat he'd pressed against her neck just a second ago. "Jerk," she said, "that freaked me out!"

He only shrugged. "Well what can I say, there you were, just sitting there, practically begging to be messed with."

Then they both chuckled, and Ruby noticed what he held in his other hand.

"Mint?"

"Yup," he replied, holding up a tiny tub of ice cream, the same brand as hers but a different flavor; she'd seen it just beside the strawberry in nearly every frozen vending machine at the school.

"You like mint?"

"Just discovered it yesterday," he said, sitting down on the bench and gesturing for Ruby to do the same. He continued his explanation as she sat: "Peach said I should 'spread my wings' or whatever, start trying out more stuff than just what I've gotten used to." He peeled off the little plastic spoon attacked to the tub's cap, then pried off the cap itself. "So that's what I've been doing. You know, I never realized I've been eating like, the same exact stuff since I first got here. The exact same kind of fitness meal I saw in one of Beacon's recommended nutrition guides at the start. And the same snacks." He spooned out a small glob of ice cream, a pale shade of green. "And I've never had anything mint other than my gum and my toothpaste, not in my whole life."

He put the spoon in his mouth, and his smile widened. A few seconds passed, before he pulled the spoon of his mouth, cleaned.

"To be honest, I sorta like this more than I like strawberry."

"Oh," Ruby said. "I hate mint."

"Well, I still like strawberry but… I dunno, this has a better sort of bite to it. I like that"

"Heh, yeah I don't really like my food _biting_ me back when I eat it. I kinda want it to be one-sided, you know?" She laughed uneasily while prying open her own ice cream. Her eyes glanced between the red packaging of her own treat and the green packaging of his, and a part of herself noted how different they each were, in appearance and—more importantly—in substance.

She just started eating, as he started talking.

"So I'm not mad at you are anything," he began.

Immediately, a remaining weight lodged in Ruby's chest dissolved and disappeared. She let out an imperceptible little sigh of relief.

"I was mad before, but that's just 'cause I was freaked out." Jaune shrugged. "I talked it over with Peach in our session today… since I didn't really want you to see me upset."

"Oh… Pyrrha said you were really mad, yeah."

"Yup." He just shrugged. "But watcha gonna do? I've cooled off now."

"That's nice—"

"Still disappointed though."

She looked down into her ice cream, not daring to glance up. "Why?" she asked, having decency enough not to let any awkward silence drag on.

"Because you lied to me."

"Hm." She despondently took a spoonful of her treat, its melting frost shining slightly in the sunlight.

"You lied to me and went off and did something dangerous. A girl's night out? Dinner?"

Her ice cream really didn't taste that good.

"No excuses?" he asked. "Not gonna try and tell me you just happened to run into a giant robot?"

"Nope." She shrugged. "You're not stupid. And even if I could keep lying to you, I wouldn't. I don't like doing that a lot." Her forlorn gaze looked down at the ground, ice cream forgotten. "I just didn't want you to worry too much."

"Well I wound up more hurt because yeah, not only did I get worried, I got lied to."

Her shoulders hunched.

"You would have tried to stop me or tried to convince me that you should come with," she said. "I don't want to get you or your team involved in the stuff we're doing."

She set down the cup of ice cream beside her and instead raised her hands to her eyes, wiping away some dust that had happened to cause some watering.

"Well you can't do stuff on your own—"

"Yes I can!" she spat, suddenly transferring anxiety and guilt into anger. A scowl cut down onto her face as she turned to glare at him. "I'm a huntress, and that means it's my job to hunt down bad guys like this, and I'm good at it, and I can handle myself."

I've been called a baby for years, even now after beating a giant robot.

Jaune closed his eyes. He breathed in and out, quietly, methodically, the way she'd seen him do it time and time again now. The sight of it made her wilt.

He only did that when he needs to focus or… when he feels bad about something.

Her eyes fell back down to the floor, the sense of guilt returning with even greater weight now. Her ice cream melted beside her.

She didn't notice how tightly he'd gripped his fists, nor how that rash grasp slackened with the last breath he took.

"I'm a huntsman too, you know." Jaune shook his head. "My job's the same as yours. I want to fight bad guys, too. I'm putting my life on the line, too. I know that you can handle this stuff, right? I know because you prove it over and over again. I just want us to do it together."

 _Together_

The word held a special weight in her mind, and it made her think:

Yes please.

"My team and I want to get at the White Fang and Torchwick as you guys do." He chuckled, dryly. "I mean, they dropped a crane on me, the assholes." He tapped a finger against his chin. "Although it was only a small crane… just one for crates. A bigger one would have killed me—"

"Please don't talk about that," Ruby said. "That's scary."

"Yeah. Thinking about your friends dying. It's really scary. Isn't it?"

She swallowed.

"Especially when you've already had some die on you."

Ruby screwed her eyes shut as hard as she could, face turning red from the effort needed to stop herself from crying. Her shoulders hunched up further when she felt something come to rest on her shoulder… his hand.

"It's alright," he said. "You were just trying to do good… even if it ended up pissing me off a bit. You're doing your best."

She nodded.

"Let's just do our best together from now on, huh? I'm not dumb enough to think I can actually make you all stop, so let's just go for it together."

That magic word, he just keeps using it.

 _Together_

"Yeah," she said, and a small, tentative smile came to her face. "Yeah we can do that."

"Good. It'd make me feel a lot better," he said. He took his hand off his shoulder, then stuck it out in front of her in the form of a fist. "We can kick some serious ass and watch each other's backs while we do it."

She formed a fist of her own, then tapped her knuckles against his.

"Together."

"Together."

* * *

"Hey Jaune?" The question reached him through the empty hallway. This late at night, no one else was around, and the only light provided came from the many lunar fragments shining from many miles away, seeping in through the corridor's tall windows.

"Hm?" He turned around and smiled when he saw who was there. "Hey Ruby, what're you doing up so late?"

She blushed and looked down at her feet, cutely crossing her arms across her chest. "Oh… I just wanted to talk to you."

"Yeah?"

She nodded. "I just wanted to tell you how much I appreciate you… that I think you've been nice to me and that I like spending time with you."

His smiled widened, and Ruby shuffled forward, never daring to raise her eyes in an adorably shy way.

"And… well I think a lot of things about you."

"Yeah?"

She nodded again. "Yup. I think you're really nice, and you're smart, and you're really dedicated and talented." She cautiously stepped forward more, one foot tentatively following the other. Her silver eyes sparkled in the moonlight as she finally looked up to him. "And I think you're really handsome…"

"Ruby—"

She closed the distance. "And I love you."

The smile on his face was immense; some otherworldly sense had already told him that she was going to say this. He wasn't surprised. He was ready. He was happy.

They leaned into one another, and as their lips touched—

"Oh my."

That voice. Soft and airy, sculpted with a refined, light southern accent; that voice could lull you to sleep with a smile on your face, make you laugh, make you cry, make you feel alright.

"We can't have this happening."

There was nothing else in existence that could terrify Jaune Arc as much as the sound of that voice.

Roughly, fingers grabbed onto his hair before he could try to react. The hand wrenched back with immense strength, hurling him away. He fell against the floor hard, hearing nothing now but the screams of the girl he loved.

Bishop Beauvais smiled. Of course he did. He always did.

Jaune tried to rise, but something weighed him down, something unseen and unstoppable, a force that kept him on the floor, where he could only watch helplessly as Ruby was picked up and thrown to the ground. A sickening crunch as her legs, those beautiful superpowered legs, buckled as the power of Bishop crushed her into the tiled floor.

She cried, and Bishop drew his sword, clasped at the waste of his spotless officer's uniform. He smiled as he flipped a switch, and Rubrem Mors flashed to life; a cruel red flame struck up along the blade's length.

Bishop raised that monstrous sword, a slash of flame, high above his head, Ruby groveling at his feet. Then he brought it down, and Jaune couldn't even find the strength to scream through his horror as Ruby Rose had her head cut off—

His eyes shot wide open, and he sat bolt upright in his bed, the nightmare shocking him awake.

What first hit him was a terrible sense of confusion, a feeling of not knowing where he was or what was happening or what was real. And intimately bonded to that confusion was panic, a feeling of threat and anxiety and terror that instantly made his muscles seize, that made it impossible for him to draw in a breath, that made him collapse back onto his bed, groveling in the sweaty sheets while he struggled not to suffocate or otherwise die from the immense tightness which had formed in his chest, right where his heart was supposed to be.

Time passed, though he had no idea how much did. All he was conscious of was a sudden fear of his own death, as it seemed impossible to move or breathe. Even as he feared for himself, he feared also for Ruby, as the lingering terror of that dream rattled around in his skull and clawed in under his skin.

But this too, passed: his muscles loosened, and his lungs flexed and drew in air once more, after feeling like some immense, ghostly hand had driven its fingers into his chest and squeezed.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

He got a hold of where he was—he was in his room, and so were his teammates, as he could tell by a desperate glance under his bed and across the room. His skin was cold with cooling sweat, spawned by the nightmare. He sat in the sweaty sheets, feeling distinctly uneasy as the graphic image of the girl he loved being beheaded remained there, burning in his consciousness alongside the view of Bishop smiling at him, and the sensation of utter helplessness.

He shakily clambered off the bed and stumbled to the bathroom. If he woke up the others, they didn't say anything, likely thinking he just needed to piss in the middle of the night. Ren especially, he'd learned, was a light sleeper. Making up for Nora's ability to sleep like a rock, he'd always been the diligent one at night. Not like he'd be of any help here. This was an enemy that one couldn't really fight back against in the conventional sense.

Jaune closed the door behind him and turned on the lights. Immediately, he walked to the sink and turned the faucet on, cranking the handle to the coldest setting. He splashed the water up into his face, relishing the icy, refreshing sensation. And then he breathed in, in and out.

He looked up into the mirror, saw his own red face, eyes bloodshot. He screwed them shut, forced himself to breathe for a while longer. In and out. Hold it and let it go.

"He can't hurt you," he mumbled to himself. Peach's words came to him, the advice she'd given him recently after he finally opened up to her about the terror that was Bishop Beauvais. "He can't hurt you, because he's dead, because you beat him, because you won, because you beat him, because you won, because he's dead…"

He droned on like that for a while, reassuring himself that the old adversary could never hurt him again.

* * *

He flicked the match and lit the cigarette.

Ultimately, it had proven a futile effort to go back to sleep. He was fully awake, and the sheets were uncomfortably damp with sweat, and he'd already used his two allowed daily pills to calm down earlier in the day. He'd checked the time and sighed when it showed one in the morning. Tomorrow would be rough, but at least he could probably go to sleep early.

He just sighed and brought the cigarette to his lips. The nicotine gum he now favored sat in a drawer back at his desk, beside a playing card pack that contained cigarettes he'd gotten a bum to buy for him.

Not like I have them a lot anymore… didn't have that many in the first place, maybe once a day or so. Now… just when I need to.

The smoke drifted hazily in the air, distinct in the moon's glow, that broken moon now looking down on him in the Beacon garden. He sat, hunched over on the bench beside the cherry blossom's pool, smoking a cigarette. The quiet sounds of the night drew up around him, with the occasional rustle of the breeze or caw of some nearby crow.

He closed his eyes and savored and the taste, the feeling, his muscles relaxing as he did. The cigs in Remnant were _soooo_ much better than the stuff back on Earth, same with the booze. This place did vice pretty well.

So he cleared his mind in that way, drawing in the experience, living there and there alone, the past and the nightmares far away from him, just a guy smoking a cigarette while sitting on a park bench.

He did that, all the way until the cigarette ran low, and eventually died out. Then he just sorta sat there. Eventually, he thought back on how the day had gone. Sans the nightmare, it had been pretty alright. With Peach's help, he'd sorted out his emotions and cleared stuff up with Ruby quickly… so hopefully no more need to worry about the dangers she was taking on apart from him.

And that's good. I love her.

Then once more, the image of her broken and crying, getting her head cut off, reappeared in his mind, a shocking jolt like the sudden flash of a thunderbolt.

He shut his eyes again, hoped that it would go away.

"None of it can hurt you," he told himself. "The past is long gone… take hold of the future. Yeah… yeah I'll do that." He nodded. "Go fuck yourself Bishop… and go fuck yourself too, Lone Wanderer." He smiled. "My name's Jaune Arc, a huntsman on Remnant. There's some fucked up stuff I've dealt with… but tell you what…"

He looked up, glared at that giant wreck of a moon which glared right back.

"Maybe I'm a shit person, but I can do what I want." His eyes narrowed. "I can do whatever the fuck I want and be whoever the fuck I want, right? Peach said as much… everybody's said as much, hell my dad said as much and so did Sarah and Fawkes and everybody I've ever known.

"So I'm gonna be a good person, the kind of person who deserves to be happy."

He spoke up into the night, a quiet promise made to something or other, maybe to the universe, or the people he knew, or to himself. Who or what it was made to didn't matter, so much as it was made in the first place. So long as he kept it.

He jumped when someone spoke behind him:

"Been a while, huh?"

He turned and saw a face he hadn't seen for some time.

* * *

 **Well hot darn, who could that be? Comment with your guess, kudos to whoever gets it right. I'm excited to do the next chapter.**

 **I'm glad to see people like the switch away from canon, as I feel it definitely will help make the story more unique and fit things together better given my style and the nature of a crossover.**

 **Also, total headcanon that Pyrrha is the mom friend, especially since this Jaune is such an unruly little shit.**

 **And oh boy, it's been a while since best troll Bishop has showed up for a dream sequence. You didn't think he was gone, did you?**


	27. Chapter 27

**Holy fast update, batman! From a few months to a few days. I wrote this entire chapter in one day, since I had it free and have no other immediate responsibilities. There are still plenty I'm shirking, they're just not immediate.**

* * *

"Come on Steve, you didn't forget me, did you?"

Jaune didn't know what to say, stuck in one of those moments where the brain just couldn't quite get past the shock. He recognized the man instantly, of course, despite months having passed. Everything about him seemed the same, from the lack of a shave, to the dark bags under the eyes, to the unkempt hair and the dumb grin.

"Qrow?"

"The one and only," he said. "Now what are you doing out here, mumbling to yourself in the middle of the night? Still smoking?" He walked near and plucked the cigarette butt from Jaune's grasp. "Didn't I tell you these would kill you?"

Jaune just stared, dumbfounded. He wasn't sure what exactly had hit him so hard, considering he'd only ever had one real conversation with this man. But Qrow was much more than that, despite their short time together. He'd saved his life… in more ways than one. He'd given him aura and healed him. Then he'd sent him to Beacon where…

"Whoa!" Qrow started as Jaune surged forward and wrapped his arms around him, burying his face into the man's shoulder as he pulled him into a hug. "Damn Steve, didn't think you missed me so much…" He awkwardly patted Jaune's back, not really knowing what to do…

"Thank you…"

"Hm?"

Jaune stepped back, then wiped his eyes with his sleeve, clearing any trace of dampness. "Thank you… for everything."

"Uhh… your welcome?" Qrow shrugged and awkwardly chuckled.

"You saved me."

"Hey, you deserved it after helping those people—"

"No, I mean…" Jaune nervously pointed around them, to the garden, to the school. "Besides that… _this_. This place… you convinced me to come here and… coming here is the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"Huh."

Jaune stepped back awkwardly "Um… sorry if this is weird all of a sudden, but yeah." He bowed his head. "Thank you. Thank you so much." He closed his eyes, fearful and wondering if he'd weirded out the man to whom he really owed… everything, actually. "I wouldn't have anything if it weren't for you."

A few seconds passed by, and Jaune didn't dare look up. Sweat trickled down his back as his anxiety heated him up by a few degrees.

Then he felt something on his head.

"Not a problem, Jaune," Qrow said. He patted Jaune's head like one would an affectionate puppy, smiling as he did. "Just trying to do my part and help out the people who need it. I knew this place could do you some good. Did me a lot of good." He then gently rapped Jaune's skull with his knuckles. "Now come on, stand up straight already."

Jaune did so immediately, forming a rigid posture and standing tall before… his mentor? Did that really count? They'd chatted for like… an hour? But he'd be nothing, absolutely nothing, if it weren't for Qrow Branwen.

"Now really, what are you doing out here, just taking a smoke break from some late-night studying?"

"No, I just couldn't sleep." He shrugged. "It happens sometimes. I don't smoke a lot anymore—was just trying to relax a bit but… I probably won't be able to get back to bed tonight."

That made Qrow smile. "Oh really? Well then how about you and I catch up?"

* * *

He tilted his head back, and the shot burned as it slid down his throat. He sighed and slapped the shot glass back onto the table, reveling in the feeling of strong alcohol flaming up in his chest. He hadn't had this in a while.

"Damn I wish I had my own personal bar," Jaune said, admiring the cabinet of booze that Qrow had in his personal quarters at Beacon. It was a small room, with only a bed, a cabinet and a mini-bar, which itself was just a cabinet of liquor alongside a small table with some rickety wooden stools. All in all, it was a pretty cruddy little room. Jaune liked it.

"Oh yeah, it's nice," Qrow said after downing his own shot. He immediately poured them both a second. "Wish I had this back when I was still in this school, would have made things a lot easier, solved a lot of headaches I got."

"Yeah? Was it a pain back then?"

"I was a on a team with my bitchy sister and my partner was a mischievous asshole, so yeah." He chuckled. "But still… good days." He sighed, memories floating around, but then he eventually shrugged. "Ah well," he said as he picked up his second shot. "All in the past… though not so bad."

They clinked glasses and had another round.

"Beacon really taught me some of the values of being not a terrible person," Qrow said. "Coming from a bandit tribe like I did, I sorta needed it."

"I think I did, too."

"Oh yeah," Qrow said. "I could tell there was a good kid in you, locked up somewhere, hoped that this place would straighten you out."

Jaune nodded, then looked down, idly tapping his shot glass. "Yeah, it has. I've learned a lot here… and I'm gonna stick it out. And I'm gonna be a good person, right? Not the kind of person you found me as…"

Qrow only shrugged. "Meh, I knew you always had it in you. Saw it back then, see it more now." He grinned. "I got pretty good judgement, huh Steve?"

"Why do you have to call me that?"

"Hey, it's a term of endearment." Qrow chuckled. "Or maybe I just figured it annoys you a bit. Definitely one of the two. Maybe both."

Jaune pouted, then turned his attention away to grab another bottle off of the shelf, one that read as being particularly high proof. "This one any good?"

"Yeah, it's great for stripping paint off of cars." Qrow chuckled. "No joke, my partner, Tai, and I back in the day got a bottle of this, then splashed it on the car of this asshole we knew here. Then we got drunk… and then our team leader beat our asses." He smiled. "Good times. We never even got caught. You done anything like that yet?"

"I beat the shit out of a few of kids here, yeah. They were trying to mess with my friends, so I taught them a lesson." Jaune uncapped the bottle and sniffed, then grinned.

"Attaboy," Qrow said. "Bullies need to get put in their place." He raised his glass for Jaune to fill. "I figured you'd like moonshine like this," Qrow said as Jaune poured one out for both of them. "After the fucking battery acid you gave to me before."

"You asked for it."

"Eh, silly details."

They clinked glasses together, then downed another shot.

Qrow sighed and slapped his glass back onto the table, smacking his lips as his liver braced itself for the most recent brutal assault.

"So you said you got friends here?"

"Yeah," Jaune said. "My whole team, best people in the world."

Qrow smiled. "I'm glad to hear that. Tell me a little about them."

So he did. He described the honorable and kind Pyrrha, the quiet and reserved Ren, the bombastic and noisy Nora. They cared for him, and he cared for them in return. And he was the team leader, a responsibility he'd been afraid of at first, but since had settled into.

"Sounds nice," Qrow said, still smiling. "I'm glad that you've got people to count on. That's probably the most important thing in life."

"Yeah. Yeah it is."

"How's the other stuff going? You coming along with your fighting, got a lock on your aura?"

"Yup!" Jaune smiled with pride. "I'm in the top five-percent rankings of the entire academy, not just my own grade. My team ranks in the top five as a whole, too." He pointed a thumb at himself. "You're looking at a bonafide badass right here." He grinned wide, waiting for Qrow to reply, hopefully provide his claim some recognition. For some reason, a part of his mind waited very anxiously for Qrow to affirm his accomplishment. He hadn't wished this from anybody else since coming to Remnant.

But nothing came.

Anxiety ate up inside of him, for the man beside him only quietly smiled.

Qrow nodded slowly. "That's nice Steve, real nice." He looked Jaune right in the eyes. "Compared to the last time we talked, you're so much more… alive." He raised one fist in the air. "I'm proud of you."

Jaune clenched his jaw. He brought his hands together and squeezed. Shakily, he breathed in deep, then let it out, before being able to speak again: "Thank… thank you." He raised one hand and bumped his knuckles against Qrow's.

Qrow chuckled and grabbed a new bottle, refilled their glasse. "Not a problem, kid. Just calling it as I see it. You've done good here, if what I heard about the docks is right."

Jaune smiled. "Yeah… guess I was sorta fulfilling my missions, huh?"

"What, fighting off the bad guys who aren't Grimm?" Qrow nodded. "Yup, you did that damn well."

Jaune's smile widened.

"I knew you'd be happy here, and that you could turn out as something really good," Qrow said. "I saw it in you."

They clinked glasses once more, then drank another shot.

"Water?" Jaune asked, confused at the weak liquid's presence.

"It'll help with the headache in the morning," Qrow said with a laugh. "But how else is school going? Classes still a pain in the ass? 'Cause they sure as hell were back when I came here."

"Yeah, they're a pain," Jaune said, chuckling. "But I'm passing them all so that's what counts, right? I won't be getting any honors for academics but meh, I've never been the book type. Well, except for when my dad tried to force me to read Shakespeare…"

"Shakespeare?"

"Just an old poet from where I'm from," he said quickly. "Just, uh, pretty famous back in my village… probably never heard of him, yeah. Heh." He nervously scratched his neck, feeling hot both from the booze and the lies. "Not a big deal."

"Yeah well, just as long as you pass, right?" Qrow laughed. "That's all that matters."

"Yeah…"

"Anything else big?"

"I'm seeing a therapist."

"Yeah? I forgot they started offering that, didn't have it back when I was here." Qrow grumbled. "Though it probably could have done a lot of people some good, in hindsight."

"Yeah, Peach is my therapist, and she's helped me a lot. I'm taking some medication too, just stuff to help me calm down so I can sleep and chill out better."

"Does it work?"

"Yeah, or at least I think it does." Jaune shrugged. "I take some and then get sleepier, or just more relaxed… sorta. It's hard to explain. More like… my mind doesn't go so fast, and it's easier for me to get a grip and calm down."

"Sounds good."

"It is."

He smiled. "Really, glad to hear you're getting some help, as much as you need."

Jaune nodded.

"But there's something else I was wondering, too." Qrow's grin took a nearly malicious tilt. "You found a girl you like yet?"

Jaune locked up, shoulders immediately hunching as he averted his gaze.

"I think that means yes." Qrow laughed. "Or is it a guy you like? Never really got that detail from you."

Jaune felt his face redden, and he became angry with himself for getting so flustered in front of Qrow, looking like a little girl talking about her first crush.

"It's... it's this girl I know."

"Is it Nora or Pyrrha?"

"Neither."

"Oh? Is she even in the school? Or did you find a nice lady in Vale? Or… did you fall in love with your therapist?"

"What!?" The very thought of he and Peach together… he found it oddly repulsive. She'd taken the role of… mother? Sister? Something close to family. "No! Peach is like family… and no it's nobody out in Vale. It's another team leader here, actually. Her name is—"

"Shh!" Qrow brought one hand up. "Let me guess her name and what she's like…"

He crossed his arms and adopted a pensive look on his face, closing his eyes as if in deep meditation.

"So… if you're into her… I bet she's just as rough as you… so maybe like, Domina? Something badass sounding?"

"Not at all, actually."

Qrow scowled. "So what, is her name Daisy?"

"That's actually pretty close."

Qrow sighed and lazily threw his hands out. "Well whatever, I'll just learn her name when you invite me to the wedding."

"Wha!?"

Qrow opened his eyes and viciously smirked at the sight of Jaune choking on nothing but his own embarrassment. "What, you never imagined her in a nice white dress?"

"I… uh… what…" His face became even redder as he blushed, wanting to come up with some sort of mean comeback, but suddenly overwhelmed by images of Ruby wearing all white.

"Aw come on Steve, I'm just messing with you," Qrow said, jamming his knuckles into Jaune's scalp and grinding them in, causing him to immediately pull back and nearly fall off his stool.

"Stop it!"

"Look at that, you're a mess all of a sudden!" Qrow barked with laughter. "Man you're crushing on her hard, huh?"

"Yeah." He looked down at his hand, which he formed into a loose, weak fist. "I'm in love with her."

Qrow whistled and leaned back. "Damn, that's a pretty big thing to say from somebody so young. You know what love is?"

"Maybe not," Jaune admitted. "But I care for her a lot. She was the first friend I made here and… I think she's really done a lot of good for me. She really has. We're very close, even if I haven't told her how I feel yet."

"Why not?"

"Apart from it being fucking scary to confess… Peach told me not to."

"Your shrink did?" Qrow scowled. "What's the reason for that?"

"She said that I still have develop my ability to cope with my trauma and social interactions, so getting in a relationship would just be a distraction, or maybe I'd get too attached to her." He shrugged. "Good advice."

"Yeah, not the worst…" He hummed. "But I dunno, from what you said, this is more to you than just a crush, huh? How long have you been into her?"

"At least a month since I've outright admitted to myself that I love her. I tried to lying to myself about it for a while, telling myself I only thought of her like a friend." He snorted. "No idea how I was able to trick myself into that when it was so obvious. I was just afraid of committing like that… afraid of maybe getting hurt, right?"

"I get you." He waved his hand, getting that part of the conversation out of the way. "But what is she like? She hot?"

"She's more than hot," Jaune said. "She's really nice and caring and… she's just great. Really great." He laughed and smiled stupidly. "But yeah, she's looks nice, too. Really fit like all huntresses are, but you know, she's a runner too so she's more slim. I saw her in a bikini once—"

"Really?" Qrow smirked. "How did that happen?"

Jaune blushed and said, "My team and hers went out to the pool… and she wore a bikini and that's really when I realized that she's… I mean, I didn't think she looked bad before that but she usually dresses pretty conservatively and man…"

"So she's hot?"

Jaune smiled meekly. "Yeah… yeah she is."

"Nice!" Qrow punched his shoulder. "Go get her, kid."

"Well…" The smile fell off his face, and he instead folded in his arms, drew closer to himself. "But this girl… she's special to me Qrow. She's special in general. She's sweet and nice and innocent and cute and… she's just everything I'm not." His eyes fell. "She's everything I need… but I doubt I'm anything she needs."

Silence for a moment, before Qrow reached over and poured them both another glass. He handed one to Jaune, who gratefully reached for it. They both slammed back the shots, before Qrow spoke once more: "Be careful with absolutes like that, kid."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that there's a lot to each person in the world, right? Maybe she's not as perfect for you as you think… and maybe you're not as bad for her as you seem to think, either."

Jaune's brow bunched up, thinking.

"I'm just saying that we can hardly trust our own perception. Remember that: never trust yourself, not completely. We're people, and people are stupid."

Jaune nodded. "Peach has told me that sort of thing, too. Beware your own judgements."

"Exactly, think I like this shrink of yours." Qrow took both of the shot glasses, one in either hand. "Now let's do a bit of a demonstration." He held up the glass in his right hand and said, "this is you." Then he held up the glass in his left and said, "this is the girl you're into."

"Right."

"So just look at them. What's the difference between these two shot glasses?"

"Uh…"

"Exactly!" Qrow held them next to each other. "Look! There's no difference, because they're both just the same thing. Shot glasses. So you and your girl are the same too, both just people. People doing whatever, doing people things."

He clinked the glasses together.

"And there's really nothing stopping you from doing this." He mimicked kissing noises.

"Stop it!"

Again, Qrow only laughed. Then he poured out two different drinks into either one.

"Now look at this: one's vodka and the other's bourbon. Different types of booze, different types of tastes and effects and looks. But they're still in the exact same kind of glass, and hey, booze is booze, right?"

"Right…" Jaune stared at the glasses. "But… what exactly are you trying to tell me? Like, is this just your alcoholic's version of the cheesy 'everybody's equal' bullshit?"

"You bet!" Qrow held up the glasses. "Now which one you want?"

Despite himself, Jaune chuckled. He took the vodka and poured it back just as Qrow did.

"Hits the spot, right? Nothing like some booze to wash back a good bit of life advice."

"Peach has pretty much told me the same stuff all before," Jaune said.

"See? I knew I liked her, and I knew I was a genius. Who needs shrinks when you uncle Qrow around?" He poured them both another shot of water, then another after that. Jaune had never bothered tempering his drinking like this, but maybe Qrow was just trying to take care of him, show as much responsibility as one could when getting drunk with a minor.

Jaune just shook his head and laughed at Qrow's silly demonstration. But a part of him still couldn't help but feel a little brazened, a little empowered. After all, here were not one but _two_ sources telling him he was good enough… or at least that he _could_ be good enough. Qrow and Peach were both more worldly than he, after all…

He remembered the promise so recently made, the promise that he would be that good kind of person who deserved that happy kind of life. It was a strong promise to make.

"But for real, kid. Like I told you, everybody's got their problems. If you know this girl as well as you think you do, then you can probably think of a few issues she's got, right?"

Jaune blinked, suddenly realizing that… yeah, actually. Ruby's got a lot of her own issues. She's got her anxiety, and her shitty old friends, and her lack of confidence in a deep down part of herself. There were a lot things, actually… a lot things that she'd thanked him for helping her with.

"Am I right, or am I right?" Qrow wagged his eyebrows suggestively. "So come on, just get with this chick already."

"Peach said pretty much the same stuff… yeah." He shook his head. "But she also told me not to get in a relationship—"

"Pfft," Qrow reached over and flicked Jaune's forehead, reprimanding him like a toddler. "Come on, how long ago did she give you that advice?"

"Like… a month? A little more than that, actually."

"Exactly, and how long have you been seeing her?"

"Maybe, like two months or so?"

"Exactly!"

"I don't really see what you're getting at…"

"You look like you've got a damn good handle on things right about now," Qrow said. "If you were the same as when I first met you then yeah I'd say 'fuck no' to getting a girlfriend, this asshat needs to work out his own stuff first." But then Qrow grinned. "You're a mile apart from where you used to be, kid. The new Steve makes the old Steve look like nothing."

Despite the cruddy name, Jaune couldn't help but beam at the praise.

"What? She's scared that you're going to get too attached to this girl? Or it'll 'hold back your progress' right?"

"Right."

"Well it seems like you've done a ton of progress already, not a whole lot left to hold back."

"I dunno," Jaune said. He swallowed nervously, the gulp audible in their quiet little room. "I know I still have some stuff to work on but… this girl… I actually got in a fight with her lately, but I used the skills Peach told me, and I even talked with Peach about it, and then we went and talked together and the fight was just over like that and it was all good again." He nodded. "Peach even told me she was really proud of how well I was doing… how I've been taking in her advice. She even suggested that we go down to meeting just twice a week, since I don't need any more."

"See!? See right there!" Qrow yelled and slammed a hand on the table. "That's it right there! Even your shrink is agreeing with me!"

"Not really, she isn't here…"

"So what? Then just ask her during your next session or something."

"Maybe…"

"But you gotta be fast about it."

"I do?"

"Fuck yeah you do!" Qrow reached out and jammed his index finger into Jaune's chest. "This girl is awesome, right? List them all of again, all the adjectives you used for her."

"Funny, nice, sweet, cute, kind, innocent, perfect—"

"Exactly." Qrow's eyes narrowed. "Sounds like some prime real estate. Let me warn you kid, stuff like that isn't on the market too long. A good friend of mine had a crush on this guy for over a year, a year! But she was too much of a wuss, and then he got picked up by another girl who had more confidence then she did and went for him the instant she decided she wanted him." He sneered and sat back, crossing his arms over his chest. "That was a real shitshow of a mess, let me tell you. That bitch of a second girl eventually just left the guy and then the first girl was able to come in but that was after a few years and… yeah. All just a fucking mess, best to avoid it by taking the initiative. Say it after me: initiative."

"Initiative."

"That's the key. You've been in plenty of fights, right? You know how important initiative is in fighting?"

"It's vital."

"Exactly. Well, listen up kid: love is war." He tapped one side of his head. "You got to use strategy and smarts, just like the battlefield. Especially when it comes to dating huntresses who are just as battle-ready as you are."

"Yeah…"

Strategy… tactics…

"Now think it over a bit: what are your opening moves for any fight?"

Jaune's face became pensive, as he thought over what he would do. The first act in an ideal case would be thinking it all over before the battle even began, the sort of thinking he was doing right now. If that's the case… then he was already at an advantage, wasn't he?

He smiled.

Well, the first part of the planning process would be trying to determine the battlefield…

"The dance!" Jaune jumped out of his seat and stood tall, the plan already coming together. "You always try to get a fight's setting to your advantage. The formal dance is coming up in just a few weeks, that's the perfect time to ask her out for a date! Or just ask her for a dance and then make a move!"

"Sounds good to me. I know a lot of people would hook up after the dance."

And that was when Jaune sank back onto his seat, face suddenly ashen.

"H-hook up?"

"Yup."

"Uhh…" He swallowed nervously, suddenly feeling a specific kind of embarrassed anxiety that he hadn't known for a while. "I dunno about that… I don't think of her just as… like…"

"A fuckbuddy?"

The word made Jaune cringe.

"Yeah, I could tell that much. Not saying you _have_ to hook up with her or anything, just saying that the dance puts a lot of people in the mood." Qrow winked and grinned. "I know you're not the type to bang and book it, that you really care about this girl. Just saying, especially if this girl cares about you too… then it could be a pretty good night."

"She doesn't seem like that…"

"Heh, appearances are deceiving kid. I know from experience that some of the sweetest and most reserved can be damn crazy in bed."

Jaune's face lit up into a new shade red.

"Aw look at you, blushing all cute like that!" Qrow poked his cheek, burning scarlet. "Adorable!"

"You're a fucking asshole," Jaune grumbled.

"An asshole who's just trying to help," Qrow teased in return. "But it's a real possibility if you knock it out of the park. Even bigger possibility if she's already into you. Think that's possible?"

"I don't think so…"

"And I don't think that your emotional radars are the most fine-tuned," Qrow said. "You guys spend a lot of time together?"

"Yeah."

"How much time?"

"Hang out nearly every day, used to be every day but now I spend more time with team and Peach, too."

"You got each other's numbers?"

"Yeah. And we talk almost every day."

"You know a lot of each other's secrets?"

"Yeah."

"What kind of stuff do you do together?"

"Talk, hang out, work on weapons, study, eat…"

"So, like, everything?"

"We've done a lot of different things, yeah."

"But not bang?"

"No!"

Qrow laughed. "Right, of course not. Well, at least she obviously likes your company. Might not be head over heels for you like you are for her, but there's a chance here. Even if she's not into you, she may be willing to give a relationship a shot. You're a cool guy, after all." Qrow poured out two more shots for them. By now, both of them were starting to feel a lightness of the brain, and heat in their chests from the drinks.

"And of course, I'm not gonna let my apprentice go out into the world without the right protection."

Jaune grinned at being called 'apprentice'. Some part of that… made him feel a sense of belonging. The second part of the statement went over his head.

"You've got a wallet, right?" Qrow asked as he pulled out his own.

"Uh yeah, but I left it back in my room."

"Well I always keep one of these in mine, so take it. Keep it in yours."

Jaune looked down as Qrow pulled something out of his wallet, a foil square that he instantly recognized from the vault's mandatory health and sexual reproduction lessons.

"Qrow!" Jaune reeled back. "It's not like that! Sh-she's not like that!"

"Can you be sure? Like I said, the ones you least expect can be the craziest."

"But… uh…" Could Ruby really be like that? No way… she was still so young… but hey, people as young as fifteen back in the wasteland got up to all sorts of things, so what was sex culture like here on Remnant?

"Don't try to bring it up right there and then, of course. Don't bring it up for a long time, not until she brings it up, or until you get some… _vibes_ from her."

"Vibes?"

Qrow nodded. "Vibes. Girls give off vibes sometimes, and even dumbasses like us can tell them, because they're these innate sorta primal vibes. Don't go off of vibes alone, of course. Make sure she says yes every step of the way, like says it out loud, but that always follows the _vibes_."

"Vibes…"

" _Vibes."_

"Right… vibes…"

"There are always the _vibes._ "

" _Vibes…_ "

Jaune eyed the foil packet once more. "But I really don't think she's the type… or definitely not the kind to go right away…"

"Like I said, you never know. And yeah, you probably won't need it soon, but sometime. This thing doesn't expire for a little while yet, so come on."

Jaune hesitated.

"You really telling me that if this girl looked at you and said, 'hey Jaune, that dance was great so now let's go to your room and have some fun tonight' then you would say no? Or you wouldn't mind having to say no because you don't have one of these?"

Jaune snatched it and stashed it in his pocket.

"Attaboy!" Qrow cheered as Jaune, face red as a burning coal, sat silently. However, the very edges of his lips tugged slightly upwards.

"You ever done it before?"

"No," Jaune whispered.

"Yeah I could tell. Well now you'll be ready, huh? What kind of trash mentor would I be if I let you go off without being ready?"

"A pretty trash one ,I guess," Jaune said. His voice was shaky, but he forced himself to breathe deeply, then let it out once more. Soon, the crimson was fading from his face.

"Look at you now," Qrow said. "Going from General Edgy McEdgelord the Cringiest to a huntsman with friends, a shrink, a good school and maybe even a girlfriend." Qrow smiled. "I'm happy for you."

Jaune smiled back. "Thanks," he said, "for everything."

"Not a problem." Qrow then poured them both another shot. "But let's move from girls for now. Let's bro it up a bit, huh? Tell me more about who you are, any sports you like? Movies? Foods? Guns?"

Jaune's smile widened. Talks and moments like this reminded him of times he'd been missing for years, times from back in the vault, the times he'd spent with his father. So the two got drunker and drunker, talking and joking more about themselves and each other as the sun eventually rose.

* * *

Pyrrha woke from a funny, odd dream in which she had been chasing down a flock of bunnies. She figured that there was more to the ridiculousness than that, but she really couldn't remember any more beyond the fluffy bunnies. It was so pleasant that she woke up with a smile on her face, cracking open her eyes slowly.

She yawned and stretched, then rolled over in her bed and flopped down to the floor. She quite liked getting up as lazily as possible on the weekends, knowing that there was no immediate schedule pressing her to get ready, reveling in the freedom of it.

She eventually pushed herself up and stood, stretching more and shaking out her limbs to bring in some life to her body and help start the day. As it were, the room was still completely dark as the shades were drawn closed. She checked her scroll and saw it was already ten. Time for sunlight.

She grabbed the curtains and deftly yanked them open, filling the room with bright sunshine.

She was immediately greeted by a pained groan.

"No…" said a slumped, pathetic figure that sat at one of the room's desks. "It hurts…"

"Jaune?" Pyrrha rushed to him. "Are you okay—"

As she neared, a strong odor washed up to her.

"Were you drinking?" She recognized the pungent, sharp scent of alcohol.

"Friend…" Jaune groaned.

"What?"

Now both Ren and Nora awoke, alerted by Pyrrha frightened tone and the sudden influx of light.

"Couldn't sleep… ran into friend… had drinks… to much…"

Jaune's breath was labored, and each word sounded weak and hollow. His face was covered in sweat, and his eyes were screwed shut.

"Light... hurts…"

Pyrrha went back to the window and drew the curtains shut once more, rewarded with Jaune's grateful sigh.

"Want to sleep," he said. "Too miserable to sleep…"

"What's wrong with him?" Nora asked, each word wracked with concern.

Pyrrha tutted and crossed her arms, glaring down at her team leader with the most judgmental look she could muster. "He's trashed."

"Shouldn't be so bad…" Jaune mumbled. "Can handle it…"

"Obviously you can't," Pyrrha said. "How much did you drink? And who'd you drink with?"

"Lot of shots… with mentor…" He groaned and nursed his head in his hands. "Feels like somebody… stabbed my skull… should handle it better than this—"

Suddenly he stopped talking, then forced himself to stand. He pushed past his team, wobbling and stumbling like he was running across a ship's deck, a ship stuck in the middle of a violent storm. He rushed forward and flung the door to the bathroom open, then dove in, already retching.

Pyrrha hurried after him, then (with a great deal of gratefulness) saw that he'd made it to the toilet on time to vomit out his insides there, rather than all over the floor.

After he was done with an initial round of gut-expulsion, Jaune mournfully complained: "I've had more than this before! Shouldn't be like this…"

"Well then let it be a lesson for next time, mister vagabond!" Nora called, a scowl on her face, hands on her hips.

Ren's eyes narrowed, a thought coming to him. He backtracked in the room to Jaune's desk, then opened a drawer and pulled out a small plastic bottle. He read the label of the bottle, then grabbed his scroll from his desk.

Nora and Pyrrha continued to chastise Jaune even as they both neared him. Pyrrha ran her hands through his hair and started speaking to him more softly, urging him to just get it over with, let it out. Nora patted his back, like one trying to burp a baby. Ren looked something up on his scroll.

"I think this may be a mistake besides drinking too much," he said as he entered the dark bathroom. "I looked up Jaune's medication online, and it says _not_ to drink alcohol within twenty-four hours of taking the medication." He squinted and looked back at his scroll, reading off his findings: "Side effects include extreme nausea, migraines, stomach pain, dizziness…"

"Yup, yup, yup and yup," Nora said. "Stupid, you need to be more careful."

Jaune only groaned.

"You do though," Ren said. "A lot of times medication with alcohol can have even more serious effects, though it says that this one isn't deadly… just makes you very sick."

"Well we should probably get him to the nurse," Pyrrha said. "But I'm not sure what they'd be able to do for him…"

"Get him in big trouble?" Nora sked. "If it won't be _that_ bad, then maybe we should just let him wait it out here."

"Maybe," Ren said.

Jaune groaned again.

"Just… just leave me," he said after spitting out some more bile to clear his mouth. "Go on without me"- he coughed out some more spittle –"get to class… leave me behind… save yourselves…"

"It's Sunday," Pyrrha said. "We don't have anywhere to go."

"Oh… nice…"

Ren sighed. "You guys go get breakfast, bring back something for him to eat. I'll try to get him in the shower."

"Best…"

"Hm?"

"You all," Jaune mumbled, "best people… best team… best friends… thank you—"

He suddenly wretched even more of his insides out into the toilet, and the bathroom started smelling sour. Despite the general unpleasantness of the whole situation, Jaune's groggy, sickened sincerity was still oddly wholesome, nonetheless.

"Of course," Pyrrha said, standing walking back with Nora to go on their mission. "We'll be here for you."

"Thanks…" he mumbled. Jaune tried to smile and nod to them, but any movement of his head only sent a new piercing pain through his skull. So it was all he could do to dip back down and dry heave into the toilet.

Yeah, mistakes were made.

* * *

"You sure he went this way?"

"Totally sure." She squinted, looking deep into the dark tunnel ahead of them.

"I dunno," said her companion. He peered through the Grimm mask which he and his partner alike wore. "Jackson doesn't seem stupid enough to go down this way."

"Don't underestimate him," the other said. "I tell you about the time I had to stop him from putting a metal bowl in the microwave?"

"Really?"

"Yup. And that was after he managed to glue his hand to the refrigerator."

"How do you even do that?"

"Jackson has a knack for stupidity." She stepped forward, away from the light provided by the base behind them. It was reassuring working back there, near the big fluorescent lights, with all the other white fang, noise of work and commotion helping them all to forget that they were buried under a ruined city and pretty much surrounded by Grimm.

The lights were really just for comfort, considering the faunus could see in the dark. Well, comfort for them and necessity for the few humans they had to put up with.

"Really stupid enough to run down this tunnel?"

"He came over here after those nevermore spooked him, and I don't see any other way you could have gone."

"Still…" He looked around, saw that there really was no other nearby way out of the cave. There were many craggy rocks and outcroppings around them, but they'd been assured by scouts that there were only a few real ways in, and the part of the cavern they occupied was cleared of Grimm beside the small nevermore that could fly through the cracks.

"This tunnel is actually pretty safe, though. They sealed it off further up ahead, and last time I checked, Grimm aren't smart enough to unlock a padlocked gate."

"What if they tore through it?"

"There's a sensor that would pick up any damage." She shrugged and stepped into the tunnel. "Just 'cause it's a little creepy doesn't mean it isn't safe. Honestly this isn't a bad place to hide out, really." She started walking forward. "Now come on, let's get him and get back before our lunch shift starts. We'll probably already be late."

"Yeah. Fucking Gerry might eat my damn crackers again." He sneered, bearing sharpened teeth.

"Or that creepy fuck in the gas mask will threaten at you."

"Is that guy even faunus?"

"Considering he's with Torchwick and the princess, probably not." She sighed and shook her head. "But whatever, some humans want to turn on their own? Why stop them. Greedy fucks will get what's coming to them one day."

"True that."

So they walked down the tunnel. Despite the woman's assurances that this place was safe, both held their shotguns at the ready before them. Step after step, the navigated perfectly the dank and pitch-black tunnel, leaving the light of the base behind as they wound through. Their dog ears perked up, taking in every sound.

"What the fuck?" the man asked. "Did that dumbass open the door up?"

Before them a large steel gate had been installed in the tunnel, one of the first tasks done while establishing the excavation base. It was to keep out the Grimm, of course, a thick barrier drilled into the rock walls with an electronic passcode required to unlock the large door, through which they'd transferred heavy machinery and building material.

Some pretty big stuff could get through that door.

"The stupid asshole must have, like what the hell?" She marched through the gate and looked out into the cavern beyond, actually an intact part of the city's old sewer system. After all this time, it still smelled like shit.

"Jackson you dumbass what the fuck are you doing!?" she called into the subterranean halls.

"Crystal?" a distant voice called back. "Oh thank god!"

"You stupid fuck get over here before something nasty comes after us!" Crystal turned to her partner and said, "this area is supposed to be mostly cleared out, but you never know what will sneak in." They both walked further into the subterranean corridor.

They heard footsteps dashing through shallow water, and then they saw Jackson turn around a corner.

"Thank god you guys came for me!" he called at them. "After I saw that Grimm, I ran back into this tunnel and just kept running!"

"Stupid, why'd a bunch of nevermore scare you that much? I mean, did you really have to open up the gate even?"

"Nevermore?" He looked at them, incredulous. His mask was set askew on his face, disturbed by how fast he was running. Now, he could barely talk between pants. "What are you talking about? I didn't get scared by the nevermore; I saw the fucking thing that was behind them. You didn't?" He shook his head. "And I didn't open up no gate."

"What are you talking about? I didn't see anything else, and you had to have opened up the gate because nobody else could have—"

She stopped talking when suddenly, Jackson screamed and raised his gun. She turned to look behind her, just in time to see an _immense_ beast rush through the large gate door, just barely big enough to let it pass.

It charged for them, baring teeth and claws, and they were hardly able to get off a few shots before the creature was upon them.

A few seconds, and their eviscerated corpses littered the floor.

Blood dripped from the giant creature's claws and maw. It crunched on a limb held in its mouth, spraying more blood as it savored the death of the prey.

The monster turned back and stepped to the gate. It braced it's shoulder against the gate and shoved it shut, the metal squealing on its hinges and grating against the stone ground. When the door locked into place, a mechanical voice came on: "Exit detected, input code to prevent silent alarm."

The creature carefully stretched out a single long, sleek claw. It gingerly pressed the tip of the claw against the comparatively tiny buttons of the electric lock, inputting a combination. The voice replied once more: "Code accepted, alarm will not be sent."

Then the monster turned away, took hold of the corpses and dragged them off into the dark.

* * *

 **Well damn, that's a development, hmm?**

 **And yeah, pretty much everybody got that it was Qrow at the end of last chapter. I figured it'd be pretty clear, but I didn't expect for nearly literally everyone to get it right. Ah well, I actually like that. The way I write, I like to make events somewhat predictable for the reader, adds to the dramatic irony, where the audience is aware of things that the characters aren't. I always think of Alfred Hitchcock's example: a simple dinner will appear a lot more suspenseful if the audience knows there's a bomb under the table and the characters don't. I absolutely love manipulating discrepancies in information between the audience and the characters.**

 **Well, next chapter will cover the dance. Will our boy finally confess? Will Qrow regret accidentally giving love advice to the guy who's gunning for his niece? That remains to be seen.**

 **And a quick PSA: always read if your medication allows for alcohol consumption. Jaune got really lucky here that the effects weren't too bad, and his friends really should have brought him to the nurse right away, but I just didn't want to deal with writing about that and any consequences. If you think a friend is having an adverse reaction to alcohol or alcohol poisoning, don't be afraid to get them medical help regardless of getting in trouble, as it can be fatal.**


	28. Chapter 28

**I was too excited to not write this immediately!**

 **You know, I realized that these last few chapter, I've been describing a lot of smiling. Like, I've caught myself using the words 'smile' or 'grin' in all manner of ways. I guess maybe Jaune's life really is just getting happier.**

 **Also, as some have asked, here's a timeline of Jaune's wasteland adventure to clear up any confusion: He left the vault at the age of 16, having spent the previous 6 years to be a guard (thus explaining his initial combat aptitude). He spent the next few months rushing through the main story and Broken Steel, before defecting from the Brotherhood of Steel after the Battle of Adams Airforce Base. He shortly went to the Pitt, which would be a formative experience for him; that was where he got the equipment he would use for the rest of his time in the wasteland. He then returned to the capitol and took up Lyons's offer of giving him Crocea Mors, then went about his quasi-suicidal life as the Lone Wanderer, trekking across the wasteland on a vicious adventure; here he pretty much exhausted all the side quests and dlc, including Zeta and Point Lookouts. That lasted many more months as he built up the legend of the Lone Wanderer. Then he was contacted by Lyons to assist in an expedition to hunt down an Enclave that may include Bishop, satisfying his revenge. So of course he went and then go transported to Remnant exactly one year after initially leaving vault 101.**

* * *

"Holy shit. You are the cutest thing I have ever seen in my life."

"Arf!"

"Adorable!" Nora bent down and scooped up the little dog in her arms, and it immediately began to lick her face, tail wagging manically. "I love it! Jaune, can we keep it?"

"You bet your ass we can," he said, a smile on his face. They'd been walking through the courtyard in front of Beacon when suddenly the dog had come bounding by, a tiny little thing with stubby legs and a stubby tale and soft, white and black fur.

"What are you doing out here, boy?" Nora asked. "You lost?"

"He doesn't have a collar," Jaune said, "but I've got no idea how it would get out here if not for someone bringing him… whatever, just let me hold him!"

Nora nodded and transferred the dog into his own arms, and the delightful little furry piece of happiness started licking his face immediately at well.

"Aw, he likes me!"

"He likes me more!"

"Shut up," Jaune sent a half-hearted glare Nora's direction, but any possibility of being angry was simply impossible as long as he held this adorable little thing in his arms. "I swear, I've never seen a dog like you before. All the ones back home are big and tough, but not you!" he tapped his forehead against the dog's own. "You are just the nicest boy, aren't you? Who's the goodest boy?"

The dog seemed to smile back at him.

"Zwei!"

"Ah hell…" He could recognize that voice anytime.

"Unhand him you ruffians!" Weiss called to them. Her cheeks were pink with exertion and sweat beaded on her brow. She sprinted across the grassy field, then onto the stone path. Only then did she slow down, nearing them while catching her breath. At least being winded would keep her quips at bay for a second or two.

"What you want snow angel?" Jaune asked. "Nora and I are just having fun with the most adorable little—"

The dog squirmed out of his arms and dropped to the floor, then waddled toward Weiss. Immediately, a smile larger and happier than Jaune had ever really thought capable of her appeared on the snow angel's face. She knelt down and brandished a collar and leash as it neared.

"You silly little cutie you," she crooned. "Don't go scaring my like that." She tutted and poked the dog on the nose, but her complaint lacked any force whatsoever. Instead, she just put the dog's collar back on, then tightened the strap a little. "There you go, now you won't get out next time you want to go chasing squirrels, right?"

"The dog yours?" Jaune asked.

The sound of his voice seemed to instantly change Weiss's mood, as she glared up at him immediately (but still continued to scratch under the dog's chin, which had it happily kicking one leg).

"The dog's name is Zwei," she said, "and no, it isn't mine. It's Ruby and Yang's."

"Oh yeah, she mentioned having a dog… what's it doing here?" he asked.

"Besides being a cutie-patootie!" Nora cheered.

"Their dad is out of town, so he mailed Zwei here for us to take care of him."

"Mail…?"

"Yes, mail. Apparently Ruby and Yang's absurdity was inherited from their father." Weiss stood fully, leaving Zwei to instead lean against her legs in the absence of her scratching. "And I was just taking him for a walk before he ran off."

"I can understand why he'd want to escape from you."

Nora giggled and gave him a discreet nod of approval.

"Sorry, but I don't much care for the opinion of someone who gets so drunk he needs to spend the next day in bed with a bucket."

"Oof," Nora said, chuckling again. She gave Weiss a discreet nod of approval.

"Just who's side are you on?" Jaune whispered to her.

She only winked.

"On that note," Weiss continued, "I hope that you won't be pulling off any lunacy for the dance. I'll have you know, the chaperones will be watching the punch bowl like a hawk, so don't even dare _think_ about spiking it."

"Really?" He gasped dramatically and feigned great insult. "I can't believe you'd accuse me of such a thing. After all, I'd never give out booze for free like that. Now if someone had paid me…"

Nora elbowed his ribs.

"I still wouldn't do it!" he said, massaging his ribs. "Because that would simply be wrong."

Weiss hook her head and sighed. "You're awful, truly. How'd you even get so much alcohol in the first place?"

"My mentor came by the school for a night, had a meeting here. We met up and had a few drinks."

Nora elbowed his ribs once more.

"Ack! Alright, more than a few."

"What kind of irresponsible moron would get someone like _you_ drunk?"

"A badass freelance huntsman who graduated from this school before we were even born, that's who," Jaune said, a protective edge to his voice. "He's the one got me my letter of rec and told me to come here."

"A freelancer, hmm?" Weiss stuck her chin in the air imperiously. "Yes, freelancers usually err on the scruffier side, I hear. Makes sense that you'd associate with the likes of them. And where is he now?"

"Out in Vale on some business, though he said he'll be back. Maybe you can meet him."

"I can think of no greater waste of time—"

"Arf!"

"Yes boy," Weiss said, suddenly adopting a soft and saccharine tone as she smiled down at the dog. "We'll get going soon. I just wanted to make sure these two weren't doing anything too untoward…" She looked back up at them. "You aren't, are you?"

"Us? Never!" Nora said.

"We're just going to test out the extant of Nora's semblance," Jaune said, "for science."

"Science!"

Weiss scowled, both unimpressed and unconvinced.

"Well whatever, just keep your antics away from the dance. I've been working hard at it now that team CFVY was delayed." She glanced away, then looked back (though not quite reaching Jaune's eyes). "Do you plan on asking anyone to the dance, Jaune?"

A tingle went up along his spine, as his earlier conversation with Qrow came back to him. The plan he'd made. The dance.

"Nope," he lied. "Not planning on asking anyone."

"Hmph." Weiss regarded him for a second longer, before turning away wordlessly and walking off with Zwei waddling along behind her, stubby tail wagging. Before getting too far, she turned her head back and called, "Just don't cause too much mischief, at least!"

Then she kept walking, headed back to the school.

"Hm, what was that about?" he asked.

"No idea," Nora asked. "But you really don't have plans to ask anyone out? Nobody? Not a single girl you wanna go on a date with?"

He felt heat flush up along his neck.

"Nope."

* * *

"I really can't believe you two," Pyrrha said. "When I said I was the mom friend, it was supposed to be a joke." She tutted and put her hands on her hips. "But here I am picking you up from detention."

She stared down Jaune and Nora as they exited Miss Goodwitch's large office, having just received a scolding and a mandate for a week's worth of detentions, though at least they would still be able to go dance.

"Sorry?" Jaune said.

"It was for science!" Nora cheered.

"Science?" Ren asked. "You hooked Nora up to the school's dust generator." He frowned. "Power went out for an hour…"

"Not to mention Nora apparently broke through a pillar in the courtyard?" Pyrrha said, incredulous.

Nora only chuckled nervously and rubbed a bruise on her shoulder. It had cracked marble easily, empowered by _a lot_ of electricity. "Science?" she asked.

"Yup, science." Jaune nodded resolutely. "This is valuable information for our future performance as a team, as much as I told Miss Goodwitch."

"And how did she take that?" Ren asked.

The smile fell from Jaune's face.

"Exactly," Pyrrha said. "Making that poor woman repair even more of the academy…"

"You caused some of the most damage at the food fight…"

"Uhh…" Pyrrha looked away, composure falling upon being called out. "Regardless, we really ought to stop—"

"Yo, psychopaths!"

The team turned to face the new voice, then saw none other than Yang Xiao Long, holding a massive speaker.

"Was it you idiots who cut the power?" she asked, voice carrying little trace of strain despite her carrying a speaker that must have weighed more than she did.

"We didn't cut the power!" Jaune said. "It was a side-effect of scientific pursuits."

"Yup!" Nora nodded cheerily.

"Sometimes I think one of _us_ should have been made leader," Ren said to Pyrrha.

"Yeah but then what would our name be?" Jaune asked, as if that was a perfectly valid way to resolve the argument. "I can't think of anything that starts with a P or an R, can you?"

"Team PNJR? Panther?" Pyrrha said.

"What's that?" Nora asked. "Is it like a puma?"

"Where does the J fit into panther?" Jaune asked. "And wait, that was a quick reply… have you been thinking about this?"

Pyrrha's coy smile was all the answer he needed.

"Well you'll have to tell me the story sometime," Yang said as she passed by. "Bet it was pretty sweet."

"Oh it was awesome!" Nora cheered.

"You ever trying hooking up some exposed wires to a giant gumball, then have to chase that gumball around with a fishing net you took from the recreation closet?" Jaune asked.

Yang looked at him, face a perfect picture of confusion. "No… no I can't say I have."

"Well that's pretty much how it went," he said with a devious grin. "Pretty sweet."

Yang giggled and said, "Yeah that sounds pretty sweet." Before she started walking away, she asked one last question: "Are any of you getting dates for the dance?"

Jaune gulped.

"No," Pyrrha said. "We were planning on going as a group of friends."

"Oh."

Jaune wasn't sure if he imagined the hint of disappointment in Yang's voice.

"Y'know there are a lot of people around here who are single," she said, slowly backing further down the hallway. "I bet there are some girls who would say yes if you asked them out. The dance is just a couple days away, right?"

Jaune bit his lip.

"Yeah, I hope people make up their minds soon and ask out the people they want," Pyrrha said. "I think this is the time for people to really make up their minds and marshal their courage."

"Couldn't have put it better myself!" Yang called back, now a little further away. "Well, see you all then!"

Jaune felt uneasy.

* * *

"So, you want to ask Ruby to the dance," Peach said. "An ambitious effort, to be sure."

"Do you think that's okay?" Jaune asked. He nervously held the tin slinky in his grip, making it slick with sweat from his damp palms. It rattled in his nervous grasp. "I know what you told me, but…"

Peach hummed. She brought on finger up and tapped her black nails against her black lips, thinking. Her office was quiet aside from that, hovering in a silence perturbed only by the rattle of Jaune's slinky.

"Well…"

Jaune could hardly breathe.

"You've been doing very well." She tilted her head. "There was that unfortunate incident recently with alcohol, but I believe you when you say that it was a fluke. And we _did_ just go down to two days."

"So…?"

"But then there's the detention debacle… though I hope you learned your lesson about that."

"So…?"

"So you're in a manageable spot," she said.

It wasn't a yes.

"I told you that I didn't want you to try for a relationship because you really needed to focus on yourself, but since then you've been completely dedicated to studying my methods, and you've opened up a lot." She kicked her legs gently and swiveled her chair left, then right, then left again. The chains along her midriff now clinked slightly as well.

"So…?"

"I was afraid that you would become overly dependent on anyone you got in a relationship with," Peach said. "You seemed to be swimming in a brutal straight, and to be honest, I don't think you're completely through it."

Jaune looked down at the floor.

"But I don't think the water's as rough as it used to be," she said. "Heck, just the fact that you're so serious about all this that you're asking my permission, that shows how committed you are."

He looked up, hope in his eyes. "It does?"

"Absolutely. When you first came to me, you _really_ didn't want to be here or listen to me, but now I'm glad to see you've got a lot of respect for me and the process." She smiled. "So I think you'll really take my advice to heart, and be careful with this."

"So…?"

"Ask her for a dance," Peach said.

"Yes!" He leapt up off of the couch and threw his hands in the air, victorious. He could have gone through with this without her blessing, of course, but to go against her word seemed… wrong.

"However," Peach said, "I'm going to give you some advice and stipulations I'd like you to follow."

"Yeah, whatever you say," Jaune said, still grinning wide.

"Alright, now take a seat and listen closely," Peach said, continuing only when Jaune sat back once more on the couch.

"What I worried about before still applies: overattachment. You're not in the sort of state you were even a month ago, and I also don't think you were in as bad a state back then as I feared. It's not uncommon for people with serious emotional or mental issues to find people and lean on them for support, without addressing the real issues. Such a relationship is healthy for neither party.

"The one relying on doesn't really progress like they can, and the one being relied on can end up taking more and more stress. The relationship can even become abusive quite easily.

"However, I understand that you're not in that sort of state. I think a big reason for that is that you've gotten a wonderful windfall in the form of your friends; social safety nets are crucial for allowing someone to survive but then also thrive.

"So if you start dating Ruby, be self-aware. Don't spend _too_ much time with her. And definitely don't stop spending time with your friends to focus all on her. Not only is that a dick move to your friends, it'll just come off as clingy and also result in potential over-attachment."

"Got it."

"Now repeat after me: metacognition"

"Metacognition."

"That's the ticket," she said. She held up one finger. "If there's one thing you take from my lessons and bring with you in life, let it be metacognition. The training needed to recognize your own thoughts and emotions and how to deal with them." She formed her hands into the shape of a heart. "Love is a touchy thing to navigate, so you'll have to be more careful than ever. Recognize when you get angry, sad or obsessive, and deal with it."

"Right."

"And of course, no means _no_." She held her hand out, open-palmed, like a crossing guard demanding a car stop. "If she doesn't want the relationship," Peach said softly, "then there's nothing that you can do other than accept that."

Jaune swallowed. He brought one hand to his chest, where a tight knot had suddenly formed, an intense mix of fear and anxiety.

"Now don't worry. You'll have your friends and you'll have me to talk to and provide support if that happens," she said, voice still soft and soothing as possible. "So don't worry. That pain may be rough, but it will pass."

"Right…"

"Though I'm not so sure how much you'll have to worry about that," Peach said reassuringly. "From what you've told me, Ruby really likes spending a lot of time with you. She seems to care for you as much as you do for her, so the possibility that she's into you, or willing to have a relationship, is very real." Peach smiled and nodded. "So I really think you can do it."

The pain in his chest receded somewhat, as if he been close to touching a fire, but had slightly pulled away, such that the heat's pain wasn't so bad anymore. "You really think so?"

"I do. You're an excellent person, Jaune. Any girl would be lucky to have you by her side."

Tentatively, a meek smile tugged at his lips.

"Relationships are a wonderful thing," she said with a smile. "They can be very healthy and gratifying. And I know that you have it in you now to be a great boyfriend and have a great girlfriend." Again, she formed her hands into the shape of a heart. "When a couple are together, they can depend on each other, help each other, listen to each and trust each other in a way that they can't with anyone else.

"So if this works out, then I think you really have something to look forward to."

"Yeah?"

"Yup."

Jaune's breath came faster now, as the exciting possibility really hit him, and it hit him _hard_. He could already imagine so many things and—

He screwed his eyes shut.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

Keep a hold of yourself, pal. This isn't over yet.

He opened his eyes again, breathing returned to normal, sudden emotions sidelined. Metacognition, keep yourself in check.

He looked up and saw Peach. She was smiling, wide and sincere. Her eyes were bright and happy. After a few seconds she said, "I am _so_ proud of you."

He got a watery smile of his own, but that wasn't the only thing that was watery. His eyes suddenly burned, and a few tears came freely. He didn't know quite what it was, but hearing those words from her… it was no less fulfilling than when he'd heard them from Qrow. The true leaders in his life, validating him like this…

Peach tossed him a tissue box from her desk. He thanked her, then patted his face dry and blew his nose.

"Are you with anybody?" he asked after regaining some composure. "Sounds like you're talking a bit from experience."

She sighed, a happy sort of action. "Yeah. Yeah I am. And when I was your age, I fell in love here too." She slumped back in her chair, let one hand come up to prop up her head. She suddenly seemed a bit more tired, but in a relaxed way, reminiscing. "My partner, the first person I ever dated. Her name was Celeste. She was very nice to me."

"Oh." Jaune knew what had happened to her team.

"Yeah. I took it really hard when she left," Peach continued. "But I've moved on from that. Now I've been dating my current girlfriend, Europa, for a couple years. She's a huntress too, but unlike me, she does the Grimm-killing full time."

"How'd you meet?"

"I met her when I went to the Vytal Festival out in Vacuo a few years ago. She's from Shade, right, so I met her there and we kept in touch. Then she moved out here and we met up and… yeah. She lives in the city, but we still see each other pretty regularly."

"That's nice," Jaune said.

"Yeah, it is."

He smiled.

"Alright. I think I can do this."

"Oh I _know_ you can do this," Peach said. She turned her chair around and kicked off, then swiveled to face him once more, hand raised and palm open. "You confess to that girl and have a dance, like I know you can."

"Hell yeah!" He slapped her hand in a victorious high-five.

"You got this!"

"I got this!"

* * *

Aw fuck I don't got this.

"You look good in a suit."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Jaune stood in his dorm's bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. Beside him was Pyrrha, beautiful in her dress. She helped him adjust his bowtie, which they'd tried and failed to get right for the past ten minutes, internet videos being at once helpful and confounding.

"Very handsome," she said.

"And you're very pretty," he said in return.

Pyrrha blushed and smiled politely. "Thank you, I've worn a dress many times for events."

"Yeah, well I've never worn a suit."

"Really?"

"Not once in my life."

"Well you like nice," she assured. "Very befitting."

"Hm." He continued looking at himself in the mirror. Something about it was just… odd. Here was the Lone Wanderer, the monster of the wastes. And he was dressed up in a blue suit he'd rented, with a fresh haircut and skin moisturized with lotion he'd borrowed from his partner. It felt a little silly, honestly, especially with the grim scar. He brought up one hand and prodded the baggy flesh which surrounded that red eye.

"Don't worry about that," Pyrrha said, lightly slapping his hand away. "It doesn't detract from your look."

"Hm."

He looked at himself a little longer, and he couldn't help but feel a gathering weight in the pit of his stomach, a coalescing anvil of regret.

"I fucked up," he said.

"How so?"

"I…"

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

"I'm in love with Ruby!" he said, blurting the words out faster than he'd planned. It still felt incredibly uncomfortable to say it out loud, even if it was also incredibly satisfying.

"What was that?" Nora asked, peeking her into the bathroom. "You say something?"

Jaune took another deep breath and squared his shoulders, before speaking again, more resolute: "I love Ruby."

He was greeted by a moment of silence.

"Well yeah, we knew that," Nora said.

His eyes widened, and suddenly it felt like the weight in his gut had grown too much and finally collapsed through, leaving just a bottomless pit. "You what!? How!?"

Pyrrha chuckled awkwardly. "It… um… how should I put this…"

"It's rather obvious," Ren said, taking the blunt and no-nonsense approach. "I think the only person who _doesn't_ know would be Ruby herself, considering her social skills and self-doubt are commensurate to your own."

"Wha?" Jaune looked at each of his teammates in turn, incredulous. "You knew? For how long?"

"Like, a pretty long time," Nora said.

"Oh…"

"We just never brought it up because we didn't want to interfere with your privacy," Pyrrha said. She tentatively stepped nearer to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. "But hey, this dance is the perfect chance, right?"

"Yeah…" Jaune's eyes fell to the floor. "But now I feel dumb… super obvious and super wussy…"

"What do you mean?"

"I've been avoiding her for days!" he said with utter exasperation. He practically collapsed back and leaned against the sink, strength fleeing from his legs, unable to hold him up any longer. "I planned on asking her out to the dance but I'm such a wuss that I haven't! I've even been steering clear of her the last few days because I was so afraid."

He gripped the edges of the sink, and the stone creaked in his powerful, anxious grip.

"Hey, hey, no need to worry," Pyrrha assured him. "The dance is still on, and you've still got a great chance ahead of you."

"Yeah!" Nora cheered, jumping up and down excitedly. "And if you let us, we'll help!"

"Y-you will?"

"Of course," Ren said. "We're a team, right? We've got each other's backs."

"And I _love_ shipping!" Nora added, hopping up and down excitedly.

So there he was, anxiously sweaty, wearing a dopey suit, utterly bereft of confidence. But his friends were there with him.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

He closed his eyes.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

He smiled.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

He opened his eyes.

"Alright," he said. "Let's do this."

* * *

She didn't bother drinking any of her punch. For one, she didn't really feel like drinking anything, or eating anything. She felt a little too glum for that. Secondly, she wasn't sure that Jaune hadn't gone against his word and spiked it, and she didn't want to try her luck.

That made her smile. His silly antics…

The dance was in full swing. Friends hung out in little groups around the edges of the large ballroom, while many couples swayed with one another on the dance floor. Above them all, a great chandelier hung above on the pillars and the tiles and suits and the dresses.

Ruby stood alone by the punch bowl.

"Hey sis, how ya doing?"

Well, she _had_ been alone.

"Eh." Ruby just shrugged, still looking halfheartedly across the crowd, looking for a head of blonde hair.

"He hasn't come by yet?"

She shook her head.

"Well, maybe he's just late—"

"Or maybe he's just a coward," Weiss said, coming up behind them. "As cowardly as that Neptune…" She glared around the room, but she was also unable to catch sight of the man who'd promised her a dance.

"Boys are stupid," Blake said, coming up from the side. "All of them."

"Blake!" Now that got her happy. "You came!"

Her teammate smiled. "Yeah, someone managed to convince me." She nodded in Yang's direction, and the other girl flashed back a triumphant grin.

"Well who needs… _men_ ," Weiss said indignantly. She crossed her arms and scowled. "They cause trouble, and nothing else! I for one am glad to be on a team with the fairer, more intelligent sex, bereft of those brutish—"

"Hello Weiss." It was Pyrrha, having walked up behind them all during the heiress's little rant. "If you're looking for Neptune, then I saw him outside in the other room."

"What!?" Weiss's eyes opened wide in surprise, then narrowed with fury. "Take me to him. I'll teach him a lesson for thinking he can stand _me_ up. I'll force a dance out of him!"

Pyrrha smiled nervously, but nodded and directed Weiss away.

"Well so much for girl power," Yang mumbled, but any further complaining was cut off by another voice from behind.

"Care to dance?"

"Hm?" Yang turned and looked at the one behind her. "Ren?" She grinned mischievously. "What? Taking a break from Nora?"

"I am," he said to their surprise. "She's in a particularly jumpy mood tonight, so I slipped away and hope she won't bother for a bit if she sees I'm dancing with some of our other friends."

"Heh, you're just a chicken," Yang teased. Nevertheless, she neared him and said, "But I bet she can be a handful, so sure. Let's bust some moves, ninja-boy."

"Thanks." Ren hooked his arm around Yang's and lead her out onto the dance floor.

"Welp, there goes them," Ruby said, chuckling only halfheartedly. "I wonder how jealous Nora's gonna get…"

"I don't know," Blake said. "But I'm looking forward to seeing her drag him around the dance floor later once she gets her hands on him—ah!"

"Hey Blake!" Nora cheered, pouncing out of nowhere and coming up right in front of Ruby's faunus companion. "We're gonna dance!"

"What?"

"I'm the distraction!"

"What?"

"Come on!" Without another word, Nora grabbed Blake by the wrist and wrenched her away, dragging her out onto the dance floor and into the crowd. Ruby couldn't help but giggle at the horrified expression on Blake's face. And she only laughed more when she saw what Nora's peculiar version of 'dancing' was (it was in fact a bizarre kind of tug of war, in which Blake was the rope and Nora was simultaneously both teams pulling either side).

"Something funny?"

That voice.

Her smile widened immediately, and she whipped around to face him.

There he was, standing there and looking the most handsome she'd ever seen him. His suit engulfed a dark shade of blue, like the ocean near the horizon. His hair was cut close and neat, the nicest she'd seen it. And he had that nice, big smile. It all made her heart do backflips like a gymnast.

"How are you enjoying the dance?" he asked her, scooting around in front of the punch bowl.

It's been pretty awkward and lonely.

"It's been pretty fun," she said.

At least, now that you're here.

"Did you find a date?" she asked.

"Nope," he said, undoing the buttons of his suit. "I just came with my team."

"Ah… why are you taking your jacket off?"

"I'm not," he answered, opening up his suit jacket. "Just getting this stuff out. Y'know, I'm honoring an old tradition here."

He pulled out two plastic ziploc bags, both filled with clear liquid, either one having been stashed in the pocket lining the inside of his suit. He quickly opened both and spilled out their contents into the punchbowl, looking over his shoulder as he did. Then he quickly threw both bags into the trash can beside the punch table. Ruby found it pretty easy to guess what he'd just done.

"Did you just spike the punch!?" she whispered to him as he came back, and the stupid grin on his face only confirmed her suspicion. "What if you get caught?"

He nodded to the side, and when Ruby glanced over, she saw Nora—still holding a rather nonplussed Blake—excitedly chatting with the nearest teacher who had been assigned to watch over that part of the room.

"She and I were in cahoots from the start," he said. "I'm not gonna be drinking any of it, but it should make the night a bit more fun for some others, right?" He chuckled maliciously. "Man, sometimes I like a bit of mischief, breaking rules is fun."

Ruby looked at him, mouth agape. But honestly, why was she surprised? This was the guy she knew, the troublemaker, the deviant who didn't really care much for laws or society or what people told him. But he played by his own rules, and he had a good heart, and she loved him for that.

Looking up at him, she started laughing, and then he started laughing with her.

So there they stood, laughing like a couple of stupid teens.

"You're so bad!" she said, lightly slapping his arm.

He only smirked. "So bad I'm good?"

She blushed. Gods, what a dumb line. But it nevertheless made her heart flutter for a second, if only because it still had some dumb funniness to it, if only because it was _him_ who said it.

"Want to dance?" he asked, offering his hand to her.

Ruby didn't wait a single second to reach out and take it.

* * *

I'm a stupid motherfucker. Holy shit. The dumbest fuck alive. 'So bad I'm good?'. That's the corniest, shittiest line I think I've ever heard in my entire life and I hate myself for saying it.

Jaune kept a cool appearance on the outside, but inside he went on a vicious tirade against himself. The plan had been going so perfectly; his team had excellently isolated her for him, and he'd come in with no trouble. But if he kept saying stupid shit like that, then it would all fall apart.

He held Ruby's hand, leading them both out onto the dance floor. It was a heady sensation, a good kind of burning inside his head, the excitement that he was actually holding her hand. Handholding! Jesus Christ, this is what couples do! Real couples!

But then he let go of her hand, feigning a need to cough and turning away, covering his mouth. In reality, he just took the moment to quickly wipe his palms off on his sleeves, as they'd rapidly become inordinately sweaty—or at least he feared they had. It was hard to tell what was even real at that moment.

The lights darkened then, turning a shade of dark purple. It refracted through the chandelier and fell upon the dancers like many sparkling shards of obsidian, bathing them all in an intimate glow. Jaune silently thanked the darkness, for it might conceal some of the nervousness in his face.

He gathered his strength, then took Ruby's hand again in his own. Was it just him, or did she gasp when he did? Probably just him.

He then mustered all his courage. And isn't that a funny thing? This was the guy who'd stared down charging super mutants, taking aim and gunning blasting them away. This was the guy who'd blown a behemoth's head off with a fat man. This was a guy who'd driven Crocea Mors's teeth into the skull of a deathclaw.

Yeah, but this was _not_ the guy who had ever before danced with the love of his life.

Nevertheless, he was determined to take on this battle like had had any other.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

Time almost slowed, and the world came into focus, as did his goal.

With one deft step, he suddenly closed in, nearing her. His chest pressed against her own; his arm wrapped around her waist; his face came intoxicatingly close to hers.

And then a new song began, a slow, meticulous one. Jaune silently asked whatever god or gods might be out there to grant the DJ and lighting crew long, happy lives for how perfectly this was going. He glanced over and saw none other than Nora beside the DJ, still holding onto a shellshocked Blake. His teammate gave him the thumbs-up.

He smiled and nodded back, then got into swing.

One step, then another, and then one more this way and another that way. That was pretty much all there was to dancing, he knew. Well, at least the most basics, enough for a school dance. Apparently Ruby didn't. For one, she seemed to already have a hard time just walking in her heels, and she tripped over her own feet as much as she did his own.

"Sorry," she mumbled. "I'm not so good at this."

"It's alright," he said, and he even chuckled too. "I wasn't good a this when I started either, but my friend Amata really liked dancing, so she used me as her partner for years." He slowed the tempo and simplified the steps, going in a basic square pattern. "Just step after I step, follow my lead."

"O-okay."

So that's what she did, and with a few extra pointers from him, they were soon swaying with one another in good time. Ruby had become a master of footwork given her semblance and fighting style, so of course she picked up on the patterns quickly (if only it weren't for the damn heels).

"Alright, just hang on," he said.

"Huh? What are you—"

She didn't finish her sentence, as Jaune stepped back and pulled one arm back from her waist, then spun up the one holding her hand. Ruby squeaked but fell along with the roll, and in a second, she was leaning back, supported only by his arms, cradling her.

Had the lights been any brighter, then Jaune would have seen just how red Ruby's face was.

And if the lights had been any brighter, then Ruby would have seen just how red Jaune's face was in return.

He brought her back up, and he took her once more into his arms. They danced again, step after step, in tune with one another, carefully and slowly. The music beat around them, strong but slow, intimate and firm; it bent around them and seemed to press them even closer to one another in that dim, purplish twilight. He took in every detail of her that he could, from the sweet perfume that scented her hair, to the heat of her fingers intertwined with his, or the feel of her hip beneath his palm, or the taste of her breath on his lips. He loved that moment.

But then the song ended, and the lighting changed, and the moment passed.

"Hey," Jaune said as the room became brighter and the purple faded. "Do you want to go out there, on the balcony? I want to get a breath of fresh air."

"Yeah… that sounds nice," she said. Each breath she took seemed clipped, as her chest rose and fell quickly. She curtly turned around and headed to the balcony. As she walked, Jaune couldn't help but just… _look_ at her as he followed. He looked at her bare arms, and he looked at her legs, clad in thin stockings beneath her skirt. She really was beautiful.

Once they got out onto the balcony, he glanced around and gratefully noted that they were alone. This was it. This was the time.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

"You look great tonight," he said. An anxious bubbled instantly popped inside of him, forcing him to rethink his words and say, "Well… not like I think you look _bad_ or anything normally, but uh… tonight… sorta… nicer? Well, uh… just…"

Ruby giggled as he flushed and turned away.

"Thanks," she said. "I rented out this dress when I went looking for one with Yang. And she did my makeup for tonight too! I never wear any makeup."

"Yeah." He forced himself to pivot back and examine her more closely. He saw the smoothness of her face, and the pronounce cheeks brought ought by light shading and makeup application that served to frame her features elegantly. Her eyelashes were dark and luscious, undoubtedly curled and mascara'd. Some red eyeshadow gave her eyes an extra touch of vibrance.

He wanted to tell her that she was beautiful, but a lingering fear forced him silent.

"But you too," she said. She stepped back and pointed at his chest. "Your suit is really nice and"- she pointed up to his head –"your haircut is good too."

"Heh, thanks." He shuffled nervously where he stood, transferring weight from one foot to the other, just trying to do anything other than stay still.

It was then that the awkward silence began. It lasted for a few seconds, then a few seconds more.

Then both of them decided to finally stop being cowards.

"Jaune—"

"Ruby—"

"Oh…"

"Uh…"

"You go first," Ruby said. "Say whatever you want to say."

"Right…"

Fuck.

"Right…"

Fuck.

"Yeah…"

Okay, just get a grip. You can do this. Just get a grip.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

Once more, the world around him sharpened, crystallized. The edges came to focus, and the inessential thoughts were shoved to the back of his mind, if only briefly, if only long enough for him to do what needed to be done.

But in that state of heightened observation, he noticed something.

He saw someone running across the rooftop in the dark.

"What's that?" he asked, pointing to the suspicious figure, a shadow dashing across the building, heading away. His paranoia instantly sent prickles of agitation across his skin.

"What?" Ruby turned and looked with him, then also caught sight of the possible intruder. "I dunno," she said. Her demeanor changed, going from a reserved, love-struck girl to that of a huntress, shoulders squared and pulled back, arms and legs bent slightly, ready for action. "But it's headed to the CCT."

"I don't like the look of it."

"Neither do I."

* * *

"How come, when it's some kind of trouble, it always seems to involve one or both of you two?" asked Headmaster Ozpin. He eyed both of his students, some of the most particularly rambunctious in recent years, as they quietly sat before him.

"If it weren't for General Ironwood's timely arrival, then you two may have been in much bigger trouble," lectured Miss Goodwitch. The frightful woman appeared all the more imposing, standing as she was in front of the large window, lit up by the moon behind her.

Jaune and Ruby sat in the Headmaster's office, at the very top of Beacon's tower. In the room were Ozpin, Miss Goodwitch and a man Jaune had never met but certainly heard of, General Ironwood of Atlas. From the news broadcasts he was fond of, Jaune had gleamed that this man was the de facto head of state of Atlas, Remant's military might.

The General's spotless, clean uniform disconcertingly reminded Jaune of the officer's uniforms worn by the Enclave, but if this man worked with the Headmaster, then certainly he couldn't be so bad? Besides, hadn't he spearheaded efforts to purge Atlas of some old seditious, viciously racist parts of the military?

So Jaune had given him the formalities he'd learned in the Brotherhood of Steel: stand up straight, salute, don't look them in the eye, call them sir and do what they say. Even if Jaune hated that crap, he wasn't stupid enough to deny powerful people the respect they wanted. Thankfully, the General had come off as impressed.

And as their interview went on, Jaune found that it really wasn't too bad. The Ironwood commended them for their bravery, Miss Goodwitch seemed more concerned for their safety than genuinely angry and Ozpin seemed… as aloof as ever.

He corroborated Ruby's story and played along when she gave them some fake information that they'd actually learned from the White Fang. All in all, the mission was a success.

After a little while, they were sent on their way, assured by an earlier checkup at the nurse that they were in good health. All was well.

"You idiots!"

Uh… kinda well.

"Just run around, gallivant on whatever adventures please you, no care in the world for backup or your teammates!" It was, of course, Weiss to scold them the second they walked out of the elevator and left the tower. But behind her she had the rest of teams RWBY and JNPR, all equally concerned.

"Hey… we turned out alright," Jaune said with a weak smile. "And besides, we were together. Neither would have gone alone."

"Yup," Ruby agreed.

Pyrrha, Nora and Ren all sent him the exact same kind of unimpressed glare. Honestly, it was the _exact_ same look on each of their faces, as if they'd practiced it. Or perhaps they'd all just gotten used to judging him together?

He looked over and saw that Ruby was getting the same treatment from her own team.

"Uhh… sorry?"

"Sorry indeed, mister!" Nora tutted. "You promised me a dance, but instead you go off on an adventure without me?"

Such it continued, with a brief round of scolding from their teammates as they all headed back to their rooms. However, the scolding quite immediately turned into curious questioning. Although Ozpin had advised them not to share details of their encounter, Ruby and Jaune quickly gave them all: they spoke of the mysterious woman in black who used fire, how she'd broken into the CCT for… some reason and how Ruby suspected she might be the same woman who'd been with Torchwick when she first faced him months ago.

"So the plot thickens…" Yang mumbled. "Dammit, what the hell is even going on? Why would they want to get into the CCT?"

"Plenty of reasons," Weiss said. "Maybe to plant bugs and spy on communications or broadcast their own signals. I hope they run a system check for any tampering of the CCT's systems, otherwise there could be some serious problems."

"Isn't something like that protected?" Ren asked.

"All the guards were beat down pretty handily," Jaune said. "Whoever she was, she was definitely a professional."

"Yup," Ruby said. She held one of her heels in either hand, finding it so much easier to just be barefoot now, and it had the additional advantage of letting her use her shoes as props. She held one up. "If this was a guard, then bam!" She smacked the heel with her other one. "She must've taken him out really fast to make sure no one called the alarm."

"And the lights were out when we first got there, so she may have turned out the power somehow before busting in."

"Uh-huh," Ruby said with a nod. "I think the alarm that got the General to come only came when we busted through after her."

"I still can't believe that _General Ironwood_ is here," Weiss said, a hint of awe in her voice. "Besides my father, he's the most powerful man in Atlas, indisputably."

"Well it makes sense for the Headmaster to have friends in high places, doesn't it?" Pyrrha asked.

"It does…"

So they continued, furtively discussing the intricate situation they'd gotten themselves caught up in. It appeared that their lives as teenagers was becoming less and less about school and video games, while becoming more and more about sabotage, crime-fighting and international intrigue.

Honestly, that development didn't really give Jaune any happiness. The others seemed enticed by it, excited. Well, Jaune had already gotten caught up in bigger peoples' machinations, and he knew from experience that the life of a pawn in a greater game was not a very fun life at all.

So by the time they reached their rooms, Jaune's mind had become increasingly clouded with thoughts of resentment. Wasn't this supposed to be a new life? A new chance? Was he damned to be involved with every bullshit grand scheme that came around?

"Come on guys, we'll keep talking about it our room," Yang said, opening the door to team RWBY's dorm.

"Alright, but I'll need a sec," Jaune said. "Going to take some medicine first, need to chill out."

So he split from the others as they shuffled into RWBY's room, while he went into his own. He entered, slapped the light switch up and let the door creak shut behind him as she marched across the room to his desk.

He turned back around when he heard the door creak again, swinging open once more before it had closed..

"Hey Ruby," he said, "what's up?"

A part of his mind recalled moments just a few hours hold, brought into focus the smell of her hair and the feel of her skin and the look of her gorgeous silver eyes in that heady purple light…

He turned away from her, focusing instead on opening up his drawer and rooting around for his pills.

"Well, I was wondering…" she trailed off as the door shut behind her, leaving them completely alone.

Jaune reached into his drawer, and he saw his wallet sitting there. His wallet, within which was the 'gift' that Qrow had given him just a few days prior… and here was he and Ruby, after the dance… alone in his room…

He grimaced, then quickly picked up his pills and slammed the drawer shut, keeping the wallet inside, unopened and undisturbed. He popped out a single pill and threw it back into his mouth, swallowing it down dry.

"Oof," Ruby remarked. "No water with that?"

"Nah," he said, "I've gotten used to taking pills and stuff without water… wasn't always available back in the wasteland."

"Oh yeah…"

So then there they were, just Jaune, Ruby and their best friend, awkward silence.

"So…" she finally said. She still held onto her shoes, and now she idly tapped the tips of the heels together, looking down at the movement, a little distraction. "You, uh… you were gonna say something back on the balcony."

Shit.

"Yeah…"

Come on, you can do it…

"I just wanted to say that your dress looked nice."

You fucking coward.

"Oh…" Ruby sounded despondent, but she propped up a fake little smile onto her face anyway.

"Were you going to say something?" Jaune asked.

"I was just gonna say that it had been a good dance."

"Ah."

Ruby nodded silently, and then she turned around. "Good night Jaune," she said, walking quietly to his door. She passed one heel into her other hand, then reached out and grabbed the doorknob.

Jaune closed his eyes.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

Ruby turned the knob—

"I love you."

She stood still as a snowflake laying on a sheet of brittle ice. Each and every single cell in her body utterly froze. Her breath hitched. Her heart stopped beating. Her eyes stared into nothingness. Those words echoed within her: _I love you_.

She wondered if they had even been real.

Slowly, she turned around, letting go of the door, letting go of her shoes, which slid loose from her grasp and thumped on the floor. She gingerly stepped back and looked at him, looked him right in the eyes, just as he was looking at her.

"That's what I was going to say on the balcony," he said. "And that's what I'm saying right now. Because that's how I feel."

Every nerve in his body burned, screamed at him. Every instinct that had ruled him for the last year, every urge that demanded he remain distant, that demanded he be careful, that told him to people were a bad idea, they all came back to him in full force now. All the fear of loss and devotion struck him like lightning.

But he stood fast.

Jaune saw the blank, shocked expression on her face, one utterly devoid of emotion. It was terrifying to him, the utter lack of any sign, any confirmation or denial. The barren response made him want to run away and hide, but he pushed forward nonetheless, for this was the time to commit and commit it all:

"I'm in love with you."

* * *

 **THE MAD MAN! He's done it! He's finally done it! Tune in next time to see how the confession concludes!**


	29. Chapter 29

**A very short chapter, for a single scene. I just felt bad leaving off on a cliffhanger like that for too long, so I'm throwing out the resolution quick-like. I feel like this part also thrives on its own, as well.**

* * *

This was just… stupid.

He'd managed to do so much in his life. So much badassery. He'd established such an immense, monstrous reputation. The Lone Wanderer: scourge of the wastes. As much of an enigma as the Mysterious Stranger had ever been, but regarded as even deadlier. Some people said they'd rather fight a deathclaw than him, he who had destroyed Paradise Falls, who had tamed Old Oney, who had crushed the Talon Company, who was even whispered to be some kind of vengeful spirit or angry demon by those wastelanders who were particularly insane, be it from famishment, or mutation or just plain old delusion.

And here he was, staving off a panic attack as he told his crush he liked her.

Funny how things can turn out.

"So… yeah," he said. He didn't really know what else to say. What was this supposed to be like? Hm? He'd never really been told how to do this… wait, why hadn't Peach told me how to do this? Or Qrow? Those assholes! Isn't one an expert in interpersonal communication, and the other is a master of seduction? Assholes!

"You… me…" Ruby's face remained blank, paralyzed by shock.

Jaune, meanwhile, couldn't move whatsoever either, as a tight pain in his chest formed, contracting the surrounding muscles and making it hard indeed to even breath. Everything about this moment… it was the culminations of months—no, years—of hope and desire.

"Love…" Ruby blinked, and then she swallowed with some difficulty, throat dry and tight. "Like… romantically?"

He nodded.

He supposed there was something else he ought to say, but he had no real idea what on earth he could possibly do, physically speaking. Pulling the trigger on the battlefield was unaffected by social anxiety, unlike this situation. There were a million things he wanted to say, but he wasn't able to draw in enough breath to speak even one of them.

He closed his eyes.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

Control came back to him, if only nominally, and he was just about to open his eyes and speak before… well…

He heard a whoosh of air, and a brilliant sound that was something of a laugh, something of a squeak, something of a squeal—an odd kind of expression of pure joy. He opened his eyes just fast enough to see, for but a flash of a second, her coming towards him.

She crashed into him, and he fell back on the floor as her arms wrapped around his waist and she pressed her head beside his neck.

"Yes!" she said as Jaune squawked and tumbled back, followed closely be Ruby, falling on top of him. She immediately sat up, straddling his waist. And it was then that he saw the immense smile on her face. "Yes!" she said again. "Yes! Yes! Yes!"

She pumped her fist in the air, victorious. Then she looked back down at him, still dumbfounded and speechless underneath her. Ruby shut her eyes and squealed in delight, wrapping her arms around her own shoulders, as if to celebrate and give herself a hug.

When she finally opened her eyes again, she looked back down at him, and he saw tears already beading down her cheeks around a quivering, overwhelmed smile.

"I've loved you," she said, "for what feels like forever!"

The sudden surge of adrenaline he felt upon hearing those words… well, it ended his paralysis quite quickly.

"What!?" he nearly yelled, shooting up into his own sitting position, causing Ruby to yelp and fall back onto the floor. "Because I've been in love with you for like forever too! God damn it!" His face became red with both anger and humiliation.

But Ruby only laughed, a dumb smile on her face both from the wanton happiness and his anger, which by now she only saw as silly.

The look of her there, joyful and tearful and looking at him like he was the most amazing thing in the world… it made any trace of anger disappear, and suddenly his blood heated like magma, and his suit felt like a sauna. He noticed, also, how their legs were intertwined.

He coughed and scooted backwards, just as Ruby noticed their proximity and blushed, also scooting away and folding her legs, leaving just a foot or so between them.

His thoughts swirled. For one, his brain was still trying to play catch-up, and it only now filled his consciousness with images of Ruby straddling him. Judging from the way she dipped her head and crossed her arms, Jaune assumed Ruby had just been hit by the same.

Besides that… well… fuck. Where to start?

"How long?" It was Ruby to speak again, a low whisper. She didn't look up to him, but that smile was still on her lips.

And as Jaune spoke, he realized that he'd started smiling as well.

"Ever since you convinced me to stay here a few months ago… I've been so in love with you," he said. He swallowed, as he found the brutal honesty and sincerity of those words to be almost embarrassing, certainly hard to say, almost enough to choke on. "But I think… I think I may have felt more for you even longer than that."

"Wow…" Ruby rubbed her hands together nervously, as if she was delicately trying to heat them up again the cold.

"Since when have you…?"

"Since my friends," she said. "Well, my old friends." She shrugged, but not even that darker memory of an unpleasant part of her life made her smile dip so much as a fraction. "You were there for me, and I knew… it just showed up all of a sudden. It was just there. I just… wanted you."

Another second or two wore on, before they each processed some of the other connotations of what she'd just said.

"Well—like—uh—I mean!" She turned away, lest he saw the wrecked, nervous look on her face. "Just, like, emotionally! Emotional want! Um…"

"Want for what?"

The atmosphere suddenly sobered. She turned back, and no smile now came to her face as she saw the mix of complicated emotions expressed in Jaune's posture and face and tone of voice. His shoulder were hunched, while he leaned intently forward, eager to hear, but also the way he failed meet her eyes said he was almost afraid of an answer.

"You're so nice," Ruby said, voice clear and soft and sincere. "One of the nicest people I know, at heart. And you're strong, and you're responsible, and you're handsome, and… I just feel like you're somebody I could always lean on, who will always make me feel happy and special."

Jaune felt like he would explode. He had no real ideal what the cocktail of emotions inside of him was, just that it was volatile like gasoline mixed with nuclear waste mixed with gunpowder. Volatile, but also immensely satisfying in some bizarre way.

"What… what do you see in me?" Ruby asked in return.

"What _don't_ I see?" he blurted without a second's delay. It was all just so obvious to him. "You're nice beautiful kind innocent pure smart caring helpful"– he stopped just a moment to breathe –"and you touch me like nobody else can."

"What!?"

His eyes widened, and now it was his turn to try and reverse the stupidity of unthought words. "Emotionally!" he said, recycling the excuse. "I mean, touching my heart or soul or feelings because you're so nice and perfect!"

"I…" Ruby looked away. "Perfect…?"

She said the word as a question, as if it were a foreign thing, unknown to her. And in a way it was, at least for this context. For someone to really think of her as perfect… nobody outside her family truly believed that, or at least felt that. Someone who really cared for her… loved her in a way that nobody else in the world loved her.

Jaune watched her as she in turn lost herself in a happy stupor, breathing quickly and wearing a smile that lit in turn a joyful fire within him.. He didn't know what the next step could possibly be, overwhelmed by emotion and inexperience alike.

Breath deep. Hold. Release.

Surely there's something I can use? Some kind of advice…

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

Qrow gave me at least a little bit… initiative! Take it! Vibes! Are there any?

Well, considering she told me she loved me, I think that yeah, there are some real vibes here… then initiative!

He narrowed his eyes, leveled his gaze as if he was readying the barrel of a rifle, taking aim… fire!

He reached out and grabbed her hands in his own.

She flinched and stared at him when he did it, suddenly knocked from whatever thoughts had distracted her; now she'd been pulled back into reality. She didn't resist as he tightened his grip, cupped his fingers around hers, even though his hands were quite sweaty (so were hers).

"Ruby…" He swallowed, but then nearly felt like choking; his throat was incredibly dry. "Would…"

He took a deep breath, then resolutely locked eyes with her and spoke once more:

"Will you be my girlfriend?"

"Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!" she said, not needing to think for a second. She smiled wide, and now Jaune couldn't help but feel a few tears coming as he grinned in return.

So there they were, stuck in a world filled with monsters, corruption, crime and brutality. But right at that moment, in that spot, they were in a world of their own, and in that world were just two stupid kids in love.

He stood up shakily, and Ruby came up along with him, such that the two if them were finally off of the floor and standing beside each other. He still clasped her hands in hers, but as the tears unexpectedly rolled down his face, he eventually let go to deal with that. He rubbed out his eyes and sniffed, and Ruby did the same. Then he blinked the last irritation away, and Ruby did the same.

Then… well, he just sorta looked at her, and she just sorta looked at him. Her eyes, that most brilliant kind of silver, and his own, one such a pure and pretty blue, the other a dark and ugly red. Both of them found the other's eyes to be beautiful.

That was when he felt it. As Ruby smiled, his own dipped down, weighed by something beyond just happiness. He felt… _something_. Maybe it was just the atmosphere, the mix of emotional charge that they'd both released. Perhaps it was just instinct. Or maybe it was just want on his part.

But he felt _vibes_.

Her own smile fell away as she just looked up at him, nervous. She fidgeted, tapping her fingers together and stepping awkwardly in place. Nevertheless, she dared to press closer to him, to lean even nearer. There was just a feeling she was giving off, and it mixed with a feeling he had inside.

How had Qrow described it? Something primal? Something natural?

He leaned forward.

So did she.

He closed his eyes.

So did she.

Blood rushed through his chest, and the muscles on his back tensed painfully, as if some great weight fell on his shoulders. But he leaned forward a bit further—

And then they bumped their noses smack into each other.

"Oof!"

"Ah!"

They both pulled back, and some of the tension seeped away as neither could suppress a giggle.

They stopped laughing pretty soon. They both realized what had very nearly happened. And they both wanted to try for it again. The vibes demanded as much.

So this time Jaune tilted his head just a little bit to one side, and Ruby tilted hers just a little bit to the other, and they closed their eyes and they leaned in once more, each intent to fulfill the fantasies which had slipped into their idle thoughts and unknown dreams for months.

His lips met something soft, but a little dry, actually. He pulled back just a fraction, driven by a bit of panic and a bit of surreal surprise, but those damn _vibes_ were having none of it, and he immediately pushed back in.

She tasted like… something? He didn't really know. To be honest, he didn't really focus on the taste at all. There was her smell, that of sweet, fresh strawberries. And there was her touch, as she wrapped her arms up around his neck and he wrapped his own around her waist; and of course, she pressed her lips against his own.

It didn't look all that romantic, the pressing of faces done by two people who had never done it before. But they didn't care; in fact, they didn't care for much of anything, for caring requires some thinking, and there was certainly none of that going on.

He moved his lips around hers, an action she returned in kind. He shuddered when he felt her warm tongue slip out and brush against his lips, prompting him to open his mouth, preparing for more.

Ruby pulled back, only to press forward again but to a different area, laying desperate kisses upon his cheek and jawline, then even dipping her head and kissing along his neck; all of this was done in a way she'd seen in a movie once, and a desperate part of her mind figured that some primal recreation of that example was desirable

Jaune shuddered as she moved her mouth across his skin, but soon desired a return to the original. Ruby sighed as he ran one hand up along her ribs, causing her skin to tingle as if shocked by static. He brought his hand up past her shoulder and pressed his fingers into her soft hair. He tilted her head back up so he could again press his lips to hers, and his tongue met her own—

That was when the door opened.

"Hey Ruby your—oh gods!" It was Pyrrha who spoke, and surprise suddenly consumed her tone in those last few words as her eyes widened and she gasped. But oh no, that wasn't the worst of it.

"Best uncle's back in town!" cheered a raspy, happy voice that both teens instantly recognized, and it instantly filled each with horror. The door was flung open as Qrow Branwen kicked it and haughtily strode into the room. "So—"

His eyes widened. His jaw dropped. For the first time in a long time, Qrow was well and truly shocked into silence. The same reaction was had by his apprentice, but not by his niece.

"Ah!" Jaune gasped as Ruby pressed her palms against his chest and shoved him away, swiftly extricating the two.

Quickly, however, resentment and a little bit of anger welled up in him, directed purely at his annoying mentor. Of course, that asshole Qrow had to come barge in and ruin everything. He waited for the man to get past his initial shock and adopt a wry grin, then make fun of him.

A few seconds passed, but Qrow did no such thing. He continued to stare, dumbfounded. That's when Jaune started to feel a little panic.

"Uh, err, um, "Ruby said, stuttering at each syllable. She drew in a breath to calm herself for a moment, before finally saying, "Hey… uncle Qrow."

"Uncle?"

Oh god. Oh no.

A horrible pit tore open in Jaune's stomach. A desperate part of himself wondered if there were any possible way he could skirt this situation, pass off their proximity as simple affection or a hug or… or something other than what it had been, anything at all.

But a glance at Ruby crushed those hopes. He saw how her lipstick was smudged across her mouth, and only then did he realize that that same shade of scarlet was smattered across his own face and neck.

"Didn't know you were coming…" Ruby muttered, not daring to look up from the floor.

"What…?" Qrow was barely able to make out the single word through his confusion.

"This is uh…" Ruby pointed at Jaune. "This is my boyfriend."

"YES! FINALLY!" Nora shouted in the hallway, a part of the audience of his closest friends and confidantes.

The acute sense of mortification that collapsed upon him was so intense, that there was a tiny part of Jaune's soul that legitimately just wanted to die.

Qrow blinked, shaking his head minutely. "Since when?"

"Since… uh… five minutes ago…" Ruby mumbled.

Qrow turned his gaze to Jaune, who was unwilling to meet it. For he could only think of the things he'd said and talked about with his mentor just a few days ago.

 _I saw her in a bikini once…_

 _Yeah she's hot…_

 _Yeah I'd bang her…_

Qrow's eyes narrowed.

Fuck.

* * *

 **Oh boy, and Qrow's antics finally come back to bite him in the ass. But hey, his pupil is just doing what he told him too, right?**

 **Kudos to anybody who got the RvB reference last chapter with the puma. I don't really reference other RT stuff that much, but especially with how humorous and fluffy I made last chapter, I wanted to have something else fun thrown in there.**

 **And as for the theories about the creature at Mountain Glenn, I'll give just one hint: there's a tiny, very easily missed detail in chapter 10 that may shed a little light on the situation.**


	30. Chapter 30

**Hey all! Fair warning: classes have started back up for me again, so the rate of updates is definitely about to drop. I'm actually busy with a bunch of new stuff, from class, to research, to job hunting to training to be a tour guide! Yup, in a bit of mess, with other personal stuff stacked up on top.**

 **Ah well, I will keep writing though. This is my passion, and it makes me happy and helps to destress.**

 **And also, I hope you don't mind me skipping or breezing through canon events like the mech fight, cct fight, etc. I just don't want to waste time on stuff we all know happened and instead focus on the story I'm crafting myself. I also just really want to pick up the pace right now, after such a long time spent on slow burn emotional and psychological development.**

* * *

It must have been a good twenty minutes, and he still hadn't left the bathroom.

Qrow's untimely arrival had quickly tuned into Qrow giving him a vicious glare, before leading Ruby out of his room for 'family-talk', leaving him and the rest of JNPR in their dorm. To avoid his teammates' inquisitiveness, he immediately locked himself in the bathroom. Now he'd taken off his suit jacket and suffocating bow tie, as well as the shoes which honestly might have been a size or so too small. Or maybe everything just felt uncomfortable because…

"This is shit."

He rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt, and he undid his belt too, untucking his shirt. He basically just did whatever he could to feel a little bit more comfortable, as mounting dread simmered under his skin.

He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror and stared for a little bit. Ruby's lipstick was smeared across his face and neck, making it quite obvious that someone had had one heck of a night. He knew that he really should just wipe that off already… but some part inside of him really wanted to keep that there, some part of him which was in fact quite satisfied with what had happened. Honestly, it was a pretty big part of him.

Then he heard the door outside creak open, and that familiar voice said, "Alright kiddos, I need to have a man to man chat with that little shit."

That was when dread overwhelmed stupid teenage bravado. He groaned, then turned on the faucet and finally scrubbed his face with warm water and hand soap, quickly washing off as much of the lipstick as he could.

The door to the bathroom shook as Qrow knocked on it.

"Come on Steve; I'm done chatting with my nieces, and I kicked your friends out so it's just you and me now."

Well. Isn't that encouraging.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

He glanced at himself one last time in the mirror to make sure all the lipstick was off (since he figured that showing off to this guy that he'd just been making out with his niece was, well, not a good idea). Then he turned back and looked at the door.

Qrow could beat his ass… but getting his shit kicked in was not a new experience for Jaune. Sure, he could be mad… but Qrow wouldn't actually attack him, right?

He hesitated before the door for a moment, recalling all the things they'd talked about that one drunken night.

Would he?

He shook his head. No way… right? No way. And come on, don't have to be afraid here. I've fought behemoths before! I can face down one angry uncle! And it wasn't like I'm the one who started all the perverted talk!

He adopted a resolute look on his face and marched to the door, although for every ounce of confidence he had, there was another ounce of fear. He opened the door slowly.

Qrow stood there, staring him down, a rather nonplussed look on his face.

"Uh…" Any opening lines Jaune could have said evaporated in his mind, leaving him only to say, "Hi?"

"Hi," Qrow replied, voice clipped and unamused. He stood with his hands imperiously propped on his hips, scrutinizing the young man who would call himself his apprentice. "Funny that you never mentioned the girl you're into is my niece."

"Yeah…" He shrugged, then looked down at the floor. "To be fair, you never told me you had a niece here…"

"So this is my fault?"

Jaune cringed.

Thus the great dichotomy of the Lone Wanderer emerged once more: a monster on the battlefield, but far less capable with spoken words. Fearless in the face of violence, but unbearably anxious when pushed into difficult conversation.

He awkwardly stepped around Qrow, shuffling past the man and coming to sit down on Pyrrha's bottom bunk. The entire time, he felt Qrow's gaze cut into him, like a saw being raked back and forth, slowly getting deeper and deeper.

"Remember that thing I gave you?" Qrow asked. His voice was sharp as a blade.

"Uh…" It took a second for Jaune to realize what Qrow was talking about, but when he did, he wasted no time in hopping up, wrenching open his drawer and extricating that little square foil from his wallet.

Qrow instantly snatched it out of his hand and shoved back into his own pocket.

Then it was just them and their old pal awkward silence.

"So," Qrow eventually said. "You like my niece, huh?"

"Yup," Jaune said, despondently nodding as he sulked back to Pyrrha's bunk and sat back down, legs feeling fairly weak. Just a couple hours ago, he'd been taking on a masked, fire-wielding invader, but now here he was, getting chewed out by his girlfriend's family.

"Well… she is nice." Qrow crossed his arms, then uncrossed them, then crossed them again, all while he paced idly in a short line.

It occurred to Jaune that this may be just as awkward for Qrow as it was for him.

The man chuckled dryly. "I guess it's just my bad luck that I'd end up accidentally giving advice on how to get with my niece…" He shook his head. "But the dance, huh?"

"Yup."

"You went through with it."

"Yup."

Qrow turned away, nodding noncommittally. "Well, I guess it's nice to know you took my advice… heh, did you do that other thing I told you to do?"

"Spike the punch? Yeah, I did that."

"Nice one," Qrow turned back and smiled, a tight expression, but one that Jaune saw from the top of his peripheral vision, giving him the strength to look up a bit and meet the man in the eyes.

When he did… he didn't actually see too much anger, more of that flighty kind of uncertainty with comes with situations made very awkward in one way or another.

"You did the plastic bag method like I told you?"

"Yeah."

"Attaboy," Qrow said, grin perking up ever so slightly. "Tai and I pulled that off back in the day… glad to see you're following in our footsteps." Qrow's grin dropped suddenly. "But I also had a few flings…" His eyes slid to Jaune. "Don't follow in my footsteps completely."

Jaune's face heated up with a fresh blush. "I told you I didn't think of her like that… you're the one who made it all sexual…"

"I know that, and I'll regret that for the rest of my life. Feel gross as hell, talking about my own niece like that…" He shook his head, before unexpectedly rounding on Jaune.

"Sixteen!" Qrow stated loudly—but not quite as a shout—with enough force and suddenness to shock his niece's boyfriend. "She's still too young, hear me?" Qrow pointed authoritatively, and scowled menacingly, each word as much a statement as a threat. "And I know that deep down she's more mature than a lot of people her age, but still! Wait until she's sixteen! And wait until you two have been together for at least a year until you do any funny business! And use protection!"

"Funny business?" The euphemism's true meaning hit him a second later, as did a desire to just, like, disappear or something, maybe just die. "Come on," Jaune said as he cringed and looked away, "I didn't want to do any funny business in the first place. Just wanted to, like… hold hands."

"Well you took the condom, didn't you?"

"After your pressured me too!" Now Jaune's exasperation finally came him the strength to put a bit more force behind his words. "You're the one who got all perverted with it!"

"And like I said, I'll regret that for the rest of my life."

Jaune crossed his arms, scowling. But soon anger towards Qrow reversed into anger for himself.

He bunched his brow in concern. That was a stupid thing to do. That was a dumb thing to do. I shouldn't have raised my voice. He's already pissed at me. What if he says I can't get with Ruby?

Qrow sighed. "But I'm not mad at you… not really. Well, not that much."

Jaune's pensive stress slackened just a bit. "You're not?"

"Nah… not really. Well, for a second I was… still am a little… but not too much." Qrow sighed again, this one even deeper, and a bit more tired sounding. He walked across the room and pulled out a chair from Jaune's desk, then spun it around and sat down. "Honestly, if It wasn't for the way I found you two… and if we hadn't had that long talk about the more… _physical_ aspects of the relationship…" Qrow shrugged. "Then I wouldn't really be mad at all.

"If Ruby's dating somebody here, I'm glad it's you."

Jaune's eyes widened, and his vision—which had again dragged down to the floor—suddenly snapped back to Qrow. He saw that the man still wore that rugged, tired and slightly cynical grin.

"You're a good guy," Qrow said. "A guy on the up-n-up, who's getting his shit together now better than a lot of people his age. You've got principle, and determination, and spirt." Qrow's smiled faltered and he glanced away, looking awkwardly to the side. "And even if our little talk over drinks made this a lot more awkward… at least it let me know that you care for her for real."

"I do." The tone in Jaune's was resolute, but the words were hard to choke out through a throat that had suddenly constricted.

"I get that." Qrow brought up one hand and gnawed on the top of his thumb. Then he sighed again, reached down and took a sip from his flask. Well, more than a sip. He tilted it back and drained the whole thing, then glared at it upon running empty, as if it were somehow the flask's fault that it ran out of alcohol.

During this, a smile steadily grew onto Jaune's face, and it was that big, stupid sort of smile that's just plain dumb happy. "You approve of me?"

"Well duh," Qrow said. He belched and wiped his mouth before continuing: "Thought I made that pretty clear, right?"

"Yeah, but I still sorta…" The giddy feeling in Jaune's stomach, a mix of new excitement and older anxiety, made it a little hard to sort out his thoughts. "Just, um, wanted to make sure of that."

"Well be sure," Qrow said, then pointed at him again. "It's just that this is the first time I ever done this whole 'deal with the boyfriend' thing and let me tell you, I never thought it'd be like this.

"Years ago, I always figured it'd be some jackass Yang dragged in, and I'd have never seen him before and I would just put the fear of god in him." He chuckled and shook his head. "But then here we are, with Ruby getting a boyfriend before Yang ever did, and it's the guy I took under my wing…"

Jaune's joy was hit by a dash of curiosity: "Yang's never had a boyfriend?"

"Shit, shouldn't have said…" Qrow grimaced. "Well, she's just the type who wants to wait around for 'the one' or whoever that's supposed to be. Don't tell her I told you this, or she'll kill both of us."

Images of Yang annihilating the giant mech then came to Jaune, and the uncomfortable thought of what such a punch could do to his head filled him with some foreboding.

"Yeah, won't tell a soul."

"Smart kid." Qrow chuckled again. "Yeah, I can just imagine her popping your head like a grape."

"So can I," Jaune said with a laugh of his own.

So there they were, sitting across from one another and in an atmosphere that really didn't feel nearly as combative anymore. Honestly, this was a better outcome than Jaune could have hoped for.

"But you bet that Yang's gonna grill you for this," Qrow said. "And Tai, their dad, is gonna grill you too. Probably sooner rather than later, but he's away on business for a while, so you've got some time before _that_ comes around for you."

Meeting the dad… that thought suddenly filled Jaune with dread.

"Tai will come around to you too, though," Qrow assured. "He's gotten better at judging character over the years, and I know he'll see the same stuff in you as I do: a kid who's in love with Ruby and wants to give her the best."

Jaune nodded, and the fear in his stomach dissolved.

"So just make sure to never make out anywhere near me, and I can put the thought out of my mind that my good little niece is doing crap like that," Qrow said, rising from his chair. "Go on dates, talk about life, play video games and do whatever it is teens today like to do." Qrow shrugged and sighed. "I've gotten too old to really give much advice anymore, honestly. I think I've reached that age were I just start to embrace my own crotchetiness."

"Yeah, I could tell."

"Fuck off."

A second passed, before they both laughed.

Qrow chuckled and shook his head, then walked to the door. "Now I'm gonna go up and crash in my room after a few more drinks. I'll come around tomorrow to hang out more with my nieces, but I think that it's time you and I get some training in."

Jaune stood up, almost jumping off of the bed in excitement. "Really?"

"Hey, if you're gonna act all like a puppy and start calling me your mentor, then I might as well play the part a little, right?"

Jaune's smile only widened.

"So be ready to learn a thing or two," Qrow said as he cracked open the door. "I'll whoop your ass into better shape—gods!"

He stumbled back as Nora pushed through the door the moment it opened a crack. She squealed in delight and ran immediately to Jaune, then enveloped him in a hug so tight it instantly deprived him of any air. "Yes! My favorite ship has finally become canon!" she shouted.

"Nora, Jaune's love life isn't like one of your fandoms," Ren said; despite the nature of his words, not one of them had a hint of true condescension, and he even smiled. He also walked into the room, followed closely by Pyrrha. She stood to the side with him, a genuinely happy grin on her face as well.

As he was being crushed, however, Jaune also saw past them all, to the open door of the room across the hall. There was team RWBY (plus Zwei excitedly bouncing at their feet), with Ruby herself meekly waving at him, smiling nervously. He could tell why.

Blake watched him with an emotionally neutral gaze. Weiss glared at him. Yang… she _seemed_ happy, but Jaune still feared the maternal old-sister instincts he knew to be lurking in that devious mind of hers.

Qrow grumbled as he regained his composure and left the room. "You all should pick this up tomorrow," he said, "considering your night's already been rough, and it's late. Get some sleep, then the lovey-dovey crap can be saved for the morning, after everybody's got straighter heads." He pressed a finger against Ruby's forehead and pushed her back into the room. She tried to bat his hand away, but Yang evidently agreed with her uncle's logic and pulled Ruby back by grabbing her shoulders, whispering some assurance to her sister as the door was shut.

Qrow turned and sent Jaune one last nod, then walked down the hall, out of sight. Pyrrha shut the door, and the team was once again left alone.

"Come on, get off of him," Pyrrha chastised to Nora, peeling her arms away from Jaune and letting him breathe unabated once more. "He can't tell us everything that happened if he can't breathe, can he?"

The three of them turned to Jaune, full attention on him.

He chuckled awkwardly and shrugged.

"I mean, things are looking pretty good."

* * *

"Shit, thinking about it all now… things really don't look so good."

Jaune paced back and forth in Peach's office as the woman sat quietly in her swivel chair. Her eyes tracked him as he nervously walked to one end of the room, then turned and walked back to the other, too anxious to stay still or even consider the couch.

"Why is that?" she asked. "Ruby returned your feelings, and Qrow has given you his blessing; what else is bothering you? Tell me so we can work it out."

"I've never had a girlfriend before," Jaune began, "So I don't have any idea where to start."

"Fair that this would make you nervous," Peach said.

"So I've been avoiding her all day until now."

Peach raised one eyebrow and asked, "Why?"

"Yeah and she's sent me some texts but I just told her that I needed some time to think." He balled his hands into fists. "Which is true, right? I just… don't know where to start. Don't know what to do."

"Well, avoiding her for much longer is a bad idea," Peach said. "That's for sure. Now what do you mean when you say that you don't know where to start?"

"Like… how do I start a relationship?" He shook his head, a dumbfounded look on his face. "I just asked her to be my girlfriend and she said yes but now what?"

"Well, scheduling a date would be nice," Peach said. "But the truth is, Jaune, you've already started a long time ago."

That made him stop in his tracks.

"I have?"

"Yup," she said with a smile and a nod. "She's said she's been in love with you for a long time, right? You're not building from the ground up here: there's already a pretty good base. It's really not going to be all that different." Peach shrugged. "I remember being just as nervous, so don't feel down on yourself. Nobody's all that sure of what to do.

"Just _do_ stuff. Stuff you both find fun. Go out to Vale and watch a movie, or go to a restaurant, or just hang out and play video games and talk about stuff you like. The dynamics aren't going to change _that_ much. After all, you're boy _friend_ and girl _friend._

"You're still friends, but with another angle. So do all the stuff you did as friends, but do it a little more, or more intimately."

He swallowed, and it sounded like he was gulping down a large stone. "Intimately?"

"Yeah, like when you watch a movie, go for a cuddle. If you're walking through a park, hold hands. Little stuff like that. But there's another component, a natural deepening of feeling."

"What the hell is that?"

"Now that you both know how closely you feel for one another, the atmosphere and connection between you when you're together is going to change, be more charged."

Jaune furrowed his brow, thinking it over for a second, before realization dawned on him:

"So there are going to be new _vibes_ between us?"

"Yes, you can say that. The words 'vibes' does fit in pretty well."

"Right… _vibes_ …"

"But there will be no vibes if you avoid her, mister." She wagged a finger in his direction, as if chastising a puppy. "So come on, go talk to her again. I know you're going to be afraid of that, and nobody has any right to judge you for being afraid. That's only natural. However, you _have_ to go talk to her, soon."

"Right…"

"In fact"– Peach glanced at the clock on the wall, which was five minutes ahead of the time at which their session was scheduled to end, Jaune having spent much of their meeting recounting his story and babbling about past relationship blunders –"I think you may want to go now, unless you've got something else to say?"

"No, no I don't."

"Well then," she said, "I think you've got a girlfriend to talk to, huh?"

He nodded despondently, suddenly feeling some sweat moisten on his brow. He closed his eyes.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

"Attaboy," Peach said when he opened his eyes once more. "Just keep your cool, stay honest and stay caring. Then you've got nothing to worry about." She gave him a thumbs up as he said farewell and walked out of the office.

He closed her door behind him, already feeling another onset of nervousness now that Peach's securing presence was gone. He closed his eyes once more.

Breathe deep. Hold. Relea—

"Hey bozo!"

Aw shit.

And suddenly, a rock of dread hardened in his stomach. Yang Xiao Long stood before him in the hallway, seeming to have come almost from nowhere. Her arms were crossed; her scowl and her frown worked to threaten him in tandem. On one side of her stood the great enemy Weiss, posture arched and head tilted back so she could seem to glare down at him even as she looked up, being eclipsed by him in height. On Yang's other side to stood Blake, gaze unwavering and unemotional as she stared at him.

"Oh… hey there."

"Hey there," Yang said, lips curling up into a vicious grin. "Fancy seeing you here, still in school and still alive. I figured that you'd be either kidnapped or dead, since Ruby told me she hasn't seen you since last night."

"I texted her I had something to deal with—"

"More important than my sis?"

"Uhhh," he lost his words for a moment, before jerking back a thumb up and pointing behind him. "I just wanted to talk it over with Peach first, get her advice before I did anything else. Honest, I was literally just about to go straight to her."

"Well!" Weiss snapped. "She's been in a terrible mood all day because you abandoned her, worrying if you don't like her or are having second thoughts. So you're going to march right back to our room this instant and make sure she feels like the happiest girl alive!"

"I… huh?"

"You're going to make Ruby happy," Weiss said. "And if you ever fail to do so, I will personally teach you that those who bare the Schnee family name have no tolerance for failure."

"That's her way of wishing you two luck," Yang said, chuckling and baring an angry glance from her smaller companion. "But you better be careful, since this 'snow angel' is good to her word."

"Call me that again, and you'll regret it," Weiss grumbled.

Yang only laughed and patted her friends head, causing the grumpy heiress to swat the hand away and stumble a few steps off.

"Look at that, look at how much she cares!" Yang said.

"Shut it!"

Yang giggled again, before turning her attention once more to the somewhat confused and still a little afraid boy before her. "Well, glad to hear you're just a bit of a wuss. Could have had some worse reasons for ditching like that." She tilted her head, as if trying to get another look at him, as if trying to make sure what she saw was right. "But you're a good guy. Well, at least you are nowadays. You were a real piece of shit when we met."

He remembered all the awful things he'd said and done months ago, and those hated recollections made him cringe. "No need to remind me… just needed some time to work stuff out."

"Yeah that's what Ruby told me way back when," Yang said. "She saw something in you… and Qrow did too, right?"

"They did… not sure what they saw, but they saw it."

"That saw that you're a good guy, at heart." Yang shrugged. "I always figured I'd have to threaten whatever boyfriend Ruby got, let him know that I'd bash his brains out if he ever hurt her." She chuckled and shook her head. "But you already know I'd do that to you."

"Um…"

"And I already know that I won't have to." She brandished her hands, flashing purple nail-polish for him to see. "Remember this?"

He squinted for a moment, then recognized the color. "Yeah, it's the nail polish I gave you a while ago."

"Yup, your little peace offering." She brought her hands up before her face, considering the color again. "And I like it, have used it a few times. Now giving me nail polish hardly made me forgive you for everything, but it's the thought that counts, and I counted the effort too. And I know all the effort you've put in since then." She flashed him a smile. "So keep it up."

She held out a fist, which Jaune tapped his knuckles against. However, Yang put a bit more force behind her tap, such that it was almost like a punch which ground into his unprepared aura and knuckles, stinging skin and cartilage. He nearly winced, then looked up and saw her wink.

A comradely hit? A quiet warning that, despite her approval, she may still be able to beat the shit out of him with her ridiculous strength and semblance? A bit of both?

"Do your best," Weiss said, voice somewhere close to commanding, certainly far from kind. "And as much as I hate to admit it… I too believe you have some shred of good character at the core." She turned her head away, unable to muster any further praise.

"Well… thanks Weiss."

"Hmph." She didn't bother looking at him.

Well, I suppose that's the most I can ever expect from her after everything.

He then glanced to the last of the trio, Ruby's final teammate. Blake Belladonna, the girl he hadn't talked to since that night in the infirmary, when she'd given him a rather terse warning. The sight of her had always made him a little nervous since then, and it made him especially disconcerted now.

She was, after all, the only one to witness him rip a surrendered man's head off.

So he didn't know what to expect from her, ever the enigma. Her face carried no emotion as she looked at him blankly. Every silent sliver of time that passed made him more nervous, more keenly aware of the fact that she could ruin him by telling the others about his great capacity for cruelty.

Eventually, however, she simply said, "I think you two can be a good couple."

But he didn't quite let himself relax with that. Something lingered in her eyes, or perhaps the way she creased her lips flat together. A feeling of reservation seeped from her, as if she was still holding something back. So Jaune knew then, that even with this sign of approval, she still didn't quite like him, even if she didn't hate him or fear him outright.

Perhaps blatantly showing a disregard for human life and a guiltless willingness to perform evil was, well, not the best idea of his back then.

But there was no time left to wonder about the past, as Yang grabbed him by his shirt collar and pulled him forward.

"Come on bucko," she said while twisting away and wrenching him alongside her, "it's about time you and my sis finally hashed this stuff out." She shoved him, and he stumbled down the hall, nearly losing his footing and falling flat on his face. "So get to it!"

"Ruby's in our room," Weiss said. "Hurry over there, but don't make yourself to comfortable in my abode."

"Sheesh…" What had he done to ever make her hate him so much?

Well, there were those times I pretended not to recognize who she was just to piss her off. And there were those other times she caught me checking her out. There was that other time I called her flat. Oh, and there was that other time I told her to shove…

Hm. Yeah. If I were her, I wouldn't really like me either.

But still… he'd be lying if he said that he hated her. After all, he recognized that she was determined, intelligent and loyal. He saw how she cared for Ruby and her team. If anything, she may have gone through a process similar to his own, getting increasingly open over time. If so, then why keep fighting her.

"Hey Weiss," he said calling back over his shoulder.

The girl lazily tilted her head in his direction, giving him a sidelong look that told him she was already disinterested in whatever insult he had to give her.

"If it means anything, I think you've got some shred of good character, too."

"Hmph." Weiss's gaze slid away from him, but for once, she seemed content not to reply, perhaps because she was satisfied with his admission?

Oh well… it's a good idea not to be hated by my girlfriend's best friend.

And Christ, didn't that feel weird? As he walked further from them and down the corridor, he thought back to just how surreal the situation really was. He had a girlfriend. After all these years, he had a girl who he loved and who said she loved him. He'd had crushes before, sure. Certainly, he'd hidden a love for Amata for quite some time, feelings that flared and fell away like the seasons. Then he'd harbored a crush on Sarah Lyons when he first met her and afterwards, though that had disintegrated following the Air Force Base and his defection; anything to do with the Brotherhood put a bad taste in his mouth. Then he'd returned to Vault 101, the last possible place he could find home, and then…

" _Get out of here, you monster! I don't even recognize you anymore!"_

But that's behind me, isn't it? It is. I am who I am now, and like I said before, I'm going to be the kind of person who deserves to be happy. That means I'm going to try my hardest to be the best damn boyfriend a girl could ask for.

He stopped in front of RWBY's dorm room. She was in there, right ahead of him. She was the future, far from Amata and the rest of them, all those people he'd known and passed by and tried to forget. He probably never would forget them, but at least he could move on, right?

He knocked on the door.

* * *

The vending machine's inner mechanisms clinked and rattled in its frozen interior, until eventually a tub of ice cream dropped into the retrieval bin. A few more button presses and another second passed, and another tub fell down too.

"Here we are," Jaune said as he reached through the plastic flap at the bottom of the machine. As he bent over, a cool breeze struck him and the girl waiting beside him, and winds such as that were increasingly common. The trees' leaves were beginning to become tinged with darker shades, the air was cooler. Fall was coming.

That was one thing Jaune had had to wrap his mind around: on Remnant, the long breaks from school were actually taken over the winter, wit school and work lasting through spring, summer and fall. Beacon itself had started later in the spring, but now the school year was progressing into it's latter part, into the final fall.

Still, no matter how cold it was outside, ice cream was always welcome.

"Thanks," Ruby said as she took her tub of strawberry ice cream from him. She pried off the little plastic spoon on the side and the cap on the top.

"No prob," he said, in turn pulling open his own snack, revealing a smooth and vibrant orange. The side of his tub read: orange sherbert.

"That stuff any good?" Ruby asked.

"I dunno, first time trying it," he answered. Another breeze swept by, rustling some of the leaves of the trees around them as he pried off his own spoon. He dipped it in and pulled back up a taste.

"What do you think?"

"Pretty good," he said, nodding approvingly. "Not as good as mint, but not a waste of money, either."

"Do you like mint more than strawberry?" Ruby asked.

"Yeah, think I do. I tried mint-chocolate chip the other day at the cafeteria and damn it's the best."

Ruby giggled. "Ah well, maybe we've got different taste buds after all, huh?"

"Guess so."

Then they both took little scoops of their ice cream and ate for a little while, a quiet settling between them. It wasn't too awkward a silence, just a bit of a reprieve. Jaune had simply asked her if she wanted to get some ice cream and chat, and now here they were, and neither really knew what to say.

Well, as Peach had told him, if in doubt, just keep conversation about the simple stuff.

"Want to try it?" he asked. He held up a scoop of sherbert, and Ruby nodded. He then held it out and place it into her mouth, an action that made him feel a little warm inside, since it seemed like something that a real boyfriend would do for his real girlfriend.

The slight blush on Ruby's cheeks said that she thought the same thing.

"Mmm," she mumbled approvingly. "Yeah it's pretty good."

"Not better than strawberry, though?"

"Nah."

He chuckled, and she chuckled too, and then neither knew too much what they should say.

But then again… there was no _should,_ was there? Peach had said as much. Maybe that was it… this whole time he'd just been psyching himself out, making himself think that there were some new special words he was supposed to use, like there was some sort of language of love that should have opened itself up to him following his confession.

"Hmph." He shook his head, newly determined (even if a little tug in his chest made it a bit painful to actually speak, nervousness dragging back the very idea). "I've never had a girlfriend," he said, finally beginning. "Not really sure what to do."

Honesty's the best policy, right? Peach had told him to be honest, so it's a good idea to start out like that, huh?

"Yeah… I've never had a boyfriend," Ruby said meekly. "And I don't really know what to do either."

"Hm."

And just like that, another bout of silence threatened to take over, and his mind was again pulling blanks, held back by that innate and difficult to overcome thought that there was something he was supposed to be doing, but he wasn't doing. Again, words escaped him…

But then, it was Ruby who saved the day.

"You know, we're pretty close to where we first met," she said.

"Really?" He looked up and around, then saw that indeed, they were nearby the main courtyard that led up into the academy. "Oh yeah, where you blew up." He looked in the direction of a fountain where he'd first stumbled upon her, taking another scoop of his sherbert—

"Yeah, and then you fondled me."

His eyes flashed wide open and started, nearly dropping his spoon into the back of his throat. Instantly, his gag reflex flared forth and made him choke and sputter before he got a grip on his spoon again and pulled it out of his mouth, coughing.

And as he did that, Ruby only started laughing, that sweet giggling sounding out like some kind of excellent instrument. She patted his back, still laughing incessantly as he coughed and got his bearings.

"I didn't do that!" he said, glaring at her. "I was checking you for injuries, because you'd just blown up!"

"Yeah, yeah," she said over her own receding laughter. "I know… but I knew it'd get a reaction out of you." She chuckled quietly, before adding, "at the time it did weird me out, though…"

"Hey, I was just trying to save your life, okay?" He chuckled and shook his head, then lightly punched her shoulder. "Maybe be a little more grateful."

"I'll always be grateful for you."

"Uh…"

He blushed and looked away, feeling a nervous heat creep up his back and neck. Still, he had an embarrassed sort of smile on his face, and Ruby did as well.

"Right…" he said. "And I'll always be grateful for you, too. You've done me a lot of good." He sighed. "Really, you're without a doubt one of the best things to ever happen to me."

"Heh…" Embarrassed, Ruby nervously scratched her neck and looked away.

"Really," Jaune said. His voice hitched slightly, making it more difficult to speak, but these things he knew needed to be said, otherwise they'd just keep boiling under his skin. He took another scoop of his sherbert to soothe his throat and give a few seconds to collect himself, before continuing:

"I was such a mess when I came here. Such a piece of shit. Looking back, I'm so glad that I've been able to change into who I am now. It feels like, for once in my life, I'm actually proud of who I am, or at least of who I _can_ be. And without you to look after me all that time…"

He shook his head, leaving the two in silence as he returned to his sherbert. Ruby waited, eating her own ice cream until he began again:

"I always thought that, in your core, there was something weak about you. You're just so nice and pure, so straightforward and honest and… I thought for a long time that being like that just makes you weak. But now I know better. I know that those traits are what make you so strong."

Ruby's face and neck turned deeper shades of red as his praise struck her, words she'd never really heard before, at least not with such raw honesty, not from someone she cared for like him.

"So yeah," he said. "That's why I want you with me, because you've got all this wonderful stuff about yourself that… just makes my world brighter."

Ruby was quiet. She stared down at her little tub of strawberry ice cream, now empty. Eventually she turned away from him and shot it like a ball into a nearby trashcan. Jaune awkwardly chewed his lip as she kept her back facing him. He returned eventually to the sherbert, hoping the mix of a cold temperature and the piercing citrus flavor would calm him a little.

"Coming to Beacon is definitely the best thing to ever happen to me," she said after a little while. "For once, I feel like I really belong, and I've got a purpose. I'm helping people here by being a huntress, and I've got friends. _Real_ friends who actually want to talk to me and invite me to places and really care for me…"

She turned to face him finally, and her smile stretched across her face.

"And I've got someone who likes the stuff I likes, never judges me, always supports me, believes in me…"

For a minute there, they simply looked at one another, smiling.

Eventually, Ruby coughed and looked down, breaking the silence. Looking for anything to say, to continue the conversation and perhaps inject a little normalcy, she said, "uh… you gonna finish that?"

Jaune looked down at his half-finished sherbert and shook his head. "Nah… it sort of gets a weird aftertaste after a few scoops." He stepped to the side and chucked it past Ruby, aiming for the same trash can that she had.

It hit the lip of the can and bounced off, falling onto the ground and spilling its vibrant orange contents onto the sidewalk.

"Pffft," Ruby giggled. "Some huntsman you are, can't even aim."

"Hey! Don't be mean!"

The two laughed as she knelt down, picked up the trash and threw it away. "There, no littering," she proudly declared, clapping her hands together and turning back to him. "So, want to go check it out?"

"Check out what?"

"The place where we first met," Ruby said. "I mean, we're pretty close… and I think it'd be cool to start off our relationship with a little date there."

"Little date…?" He swallowed; excitement and anxiety welled up in equal measure. "Yeah, that sounds nice."

He turned and took a step away, hearing Ruby's boots hit the ground as she quickly closed the distance to stand beside him.

Then he felt something brush against his fingers, and his eyes widened, and he stood still.

He looked down and saw Ruby's fingers intertwining with his own. He felt her smile and her warmth emanating beside him, and that wiped out any feelings of shock or panic that initially passed him by, replaced instead with elation. He opened his fingers up, then squeezed to grip her hand with his own.

Like a true couple, then, they walked down the road, holding hands, until they reached their stop.

"This is it," she said.

They both looked down in front of them. There was just a blank stretch of bricks, nothing of special note. Jaune saw a few scratches lining the rock that may have been a result of that dust explosion Ruby nearly caught herself in at the very beginning. God, he remembered getting so freaked out at that, then concerned for her, then mad at her and then…

He was in love with her. A rash, romantic idea suddenly popped up in his head, and before he could psyche himself out, he acted on it.

He bent over and pecked a kiss on her cheek, which made her squeak and stand straight at attention. Her hand clenched his tighter, driven by the shock.

And although she spoke no words immediately, the red on her face and the smile on her lips told him all he wanted to hear.

"Do you… know any movies?" he asked her. "Like… any movies you'd want to see?"

"Uh…" It took Ruby a moment to get her thoughts straight after her kiss. "Like, on a date?"

"Yeah."

"Heh…" Ruby fidgeted beside him, nodding. "Yeah I do. There's this stupid Adam Rambler movie coming out soon. I liked his movies a lot when I was a kid but now they're all just stupid." She pointed at him for emphasis. "But! If you accept how dumb they are and embrace all the cruddyness then it's even more fun!"

Excited smiles grew on both their faces.

"Sounds good to me—ah god!"

His unprepared aura flashed as a small rock bounced off the back of his head. He instantly let go of Ruby's hand and whipped around to face the new threat, only to immediately be washed in disappointment.

"Can you not ruin everything for, like, one day?" Jaune asked.

"Just keeping in touch," Qrow called back, striding forward with a few tipsy stumbles. "And besides, I thought you said you wanted me to give you some training?"

"Yes!"

"Yes!"

Both had excitedly replied at the same time, which then made them look curiously at the other.

"Rubes, I told you about me and Jaune's little arrangement, right?" He walked close and clapped one hand on Jaune's shoulder. "Well, since he's decided to call me his mentor, I'll actually be giving him a few lessons. I've already been giving you pointers since the day you were born."

"Aww…" Ruby's face pulled down into a beleaguered frown, then her eyes flashed up at him, big and watery.

"Nope, puppy-eyes ain't gonna work." He turned to Jaune whispered loudly, "If you're gonna deal with her, you've got to get used to the puppy eyes, or else she'll walk all over you."

"Don't tell him that!"

"Why?" Jaune asked, smirking. "Is it true?"

"Hmph!" Ruby crossed her arms and scowled, a pout he found adorable.

"Don't worry, dork. We'll still get in some lessons, but I've never given Jaune a proper one." He shook his apprentice's shoulder. "Besides, we need to have a bit of a bro-talk, too."

"What?"

* * *

Qrow held open the door to the private training room, and Jaune dutifully strode through. The room was familiar to him, for it was one of many identical copies. Round and wide, it held a personal arena flanked by a few benches.

"Now first of all, take a seat. I want to talk about something I can't really talk over with anybody else."

"What is it?"

"Let's just sit first," Qrow replied.

The answer hardly comforted him, but Jaune complied nonetheless. He sat down on a bench, Qrow sitting beside him. The man took a drink from his flask and offered it, but was turned it down.

"What, you getting sober on me?"

"Yeah, because of my medication."

"Ouch, that blows."

"Yup..."

"But hey, more for me." Qrow grinned and took another drink from the flask, before capping it again and stuffing it in a pocket. Then he belched loudly.

"You gonna tell me what you wanna tell me, or is this just happy hour?"

"Shut up, I'm getting to it." Qrow punched Jaune's arm, with enough force to actually hurt a bit. It only made Jaune laugh.

"Right," Qrow began. "So we're planning on attacking a base of White Fang."

Jaune's smile dropped.

"Yup." Qrow sighed. "No rest for the wicked, right?"

"Who are you going to go with?" Jaune asked. "When? And where?"

"That first part is undecided, though we know the rest. We're headed out tomorrow. You ever heard of Mountain Glenn?"

Jaune shook his head.

"Well, it was a colony set up by Vale. Supposed to be the first step in a new project of expansion, take back land from the Grimm, make new cities like Vale. And it worked for a decade, before the Grimm ripped it all down."

"Hm."

"Now it's just a ruined city."

Jaune scowled.

"Well, the ruins have since been abandoned, and nobody's ever cared to seriously go back there. Nobody except for criminals and nomads, that is. People who seek some refuge or profit in what's left of the place."

"Yeah, I know the type."

Qrow nodded. "Well, after the info Ruby gave us, along with some stuff we gleamed on our own, we're pretty sure that the White Fang have got some sort of outpost there."

"Who's this 'we' you keep talking me?"

"Me, Ozpin and his other confidantes, like Glynda and Ironwood."

Jaune's scowl deepened. "So why not tell Vale about this? The council?"

"Because we don't exactly trust the authorities of the city all that much," Qrow said. "Not long ago they ran a sweep of Beacon's systems and saw that it was hacked, meaning somebody had access to all the students' personal information."

Jaune's skin crawled and bristled.

"Yeah, we fixed it, but we're pretty sure that it must have come through some contact with our tech partner in Vale, who's also a tech partner to the Council… and that's just the most recent evidence we've got that tells us all the boys over in Vale aren't exactly trustworthy."

Jaune sneered and nodded. "Yeah, I've got some experience with types willing to sell out."

"Yup. So we'd rather not risk something as big as this, hitting at a White Fang camp, where maybe Torchwick could be too, if what Ruby found out was true."

"It would be good to get that prick…"

"It definitely would," Qrow said. "The only problem is figuring out who we want to send over there."

Jaune blinked. Then his head snapped in Qrow's direction.

"Now we've got some options," he said. "But Ozpin thinks that disguising it is as a student mission, sending it out real quick, will get everything done the fastest and with least suspicion. Especially since a lot of the other huntsman and huntresses he knows are already out on missions." Qrow grumbled and said, "Because the Grimm have started acting up more lately, in the fringe territories on the other damn side of the kingdom… pulling attention away from Mountain Glenn."

"Like a distraction?"

"Exactly."

"How can people manipulate the Grimm like that?"

"There are ways," Qrow said. He looked away for a moment, before shrugging and adding, "But whatever it is, the other hunters we could trust are already out on dispatch. We're spread thin."

"So you don't have many people available right now…"

"Right." Qrow looked at Jaune. "All in all, getting a team of students seems like our best bet."

"You want me to go out to Mountain Glenn and kill some terrorists?"

"I'm giving you the offer," Qrow said. "Because right now, it's team RWBY and team JNPR that Ozpin is considering."

The thought of Ruby saying goodbye, then charging out miles away into danger sent a bloom of panic into his chest.

"Why us?"

"As opposed to other teams in Beacon, you're the only two teams right now with experience fighting the White Fang, and the ones we can trust the most when it comes to taking these guys on, since you've got a grudge against them, and we personally know you better. Not to mention you're also already some of the best teams in Beacon despite being first-years."

"Can't we both go together?"

"Eight is a lot more noticeable than four," Qrow replied. He shook his head. "This is just going to be a recon mission, mostly. We're supposed to be more like scouts, operate carefully. We want to get a good read on what the hell is going on, report back, _then_ get the council's backing or reach out to more hunters with an emergency call.

"Honestly, this probably isn't going to be _too_ much."

"Hmph." Jaune really didn't like hearing those words. Call him paranoid, but assurances like that never seemed to have a high chance of coming true. He furrowed his brow pensively.

Eventually, he turned to Qrow and asked: "Have you told Ruby about this yet?"

"No, and I wasn't planning to. Actually, Ozpin told us not to tell any of you, and we'd have a second talk about it tonight."

"What?" Jaune took a moment to find his words, a little surprised and a little confused. "But then why are you telling me?"

"Because I actually respect your opinion on stuff like this, but not really the other kids' thoughts. They don't really understand what's at hand here," Qrow said. "I know you've got plenty of real experience under your belt here, and I told the others as much. Honestly, I'd rather lead you and the rest of your team out there rather than RWBY. They're still a bit too green for something like this."

"Wait, you'd be leading us?"

"Yup," Qrow nodded and grinned. "Whichever lucky team went out there would be lead by yours truly. That's why I came back: some shady stuff made me want to get here quick to help out."

"What kind of shady stuff?"

"Stuff like White Fang smuggling with men in black gas masks."

"Hm." Jaune crossed his arms. "Definitely sounds like some weird crap is at work…"

"That's putting it lightly, kid." Qrow shook his head and whistled. "Like I told you: Grimm be damned, it's people who are the real threat in this world."

"Agreed. But who are these people?" He shook his head. "Are the ones in the black gas masks the White Fang? And why is Torchwick working with them?"

"The gas-mask creeps probably aren't White Fang," Qrow answered. "Otherwise, they'd be wearing the same uniforms, right? And some of what I've seen makes me think that the two groups aren't actually all that friendly to each other."

Jaune raised an eyebrow. "You've been spying on them?"

"Little birdies can hear a lot of things," Qrow replied. "But yeah, I've lurked on a few ops like what you ran into at the docs. My guess is they're a mercenary group of veterans or rogue huntsman." He shrugged and sneered, disgusted. "Some people will do whatever for money. Probably the same with Torchwick."

"And there's nobody else involved?"

Qrow blinked, a moment of near-hesitation. But then he shook his head. "Nah, just the White Fang, then whatever help they can buy out, like Torchwick and the gas masks."

Jaune nodded. "Alright…"

Qrow swallowed, a slight pang of guilt twitching in the back of his mind. He brought out his flask again and took another drink to wash that away.

"So I think the others are leaning my way about choosing your team," Qrow continued after his respite. "I told them that you've got the experience, and you've got Pyrrha, who's damn near unmatched."

"We've got more than that," Jaune said, turning to Qrow and laying out his case. "Pyrrha's semblance would be damn useful in a ruined city filled with scrap. Ren's semblance would help us get around without alerting any Grimm. I wandered around for a year through a wrecked city… back in Vacuo. I've got direct experience in that kind of setting."

Qrow grinned again. "Well then it looks like your team is really turning out to be the better deal."

And I won't have to sit around knowing Ruby has gone off into some bullshit new danger, unable to do anything to help.

"Well I wanted to run it by you so you won't be caught off guard," Qrow said. "Go tell your team about it tonight, but nobody else, right? Oz would be pissed, and Ruby would hate being left out of something so big." He chuckled and sighed. "She'd be mad that we're keeping secrets, and she'd want to help fight the bad guys. She's righteous like that."

"Yeah, yeah she is," Jaune said. He would have smiled, thinking about his girlfriend. But the prospect of lying to her suppressed any joy.

I'm better equipped for this than she is. This is for the best.

 _We're in this together, right?_

 _Yeah, together._

He winced at the memory of their promise.

"Good, I'll make sure to press for you when I talk to the others tonight," Qrow said. He slapped his hands on his knees. "But for now, let's finally get some lessons in, huh? Be a good pupil and pay attention."

Jaune instantly shot up to his feet as Qrow (much more slowly) rose as well. The excitement under his skin tingled.

"Right. First we'll do some aura exercises to see how well you've got a handle of that."

"Of course."

"Then we'll do some stance-training, movesets, all the basics."

"Right!"

"Then we'll have a match and I'll kick your ass."

"You can try."

"Hah! Don't get cocky kid." Qrow took out his flask and swallowed a drink, while Jaune tugged Crocea Mors from its scabbard.

"I'll show you I've improved a lot since you saw me get mauled back in that village. You gave me aura, and you sent me here. I haven't wasted what you've given me."

"Eh, all I gave you was the opportunity."

Qrow shrugged and shoved his flask back in his pocket, then pulled out his own sword. Both of them walked out to opposite ends of their little circular arena.

"Everything you've got right now, you got because you worked for it. Don't forget that."

Jaune nodded, feeling a light, warm sensation flower in his chest at his mentor's assurance.

Qrow jerked his neck one way, then the other, cracking it several times. He sighed in relief, then added, "And actually, after this I'll teach you a bit about hand-to-hand, make sure you've at least got the basics. Gods knows that too many huntsman never work on fighting without their precious super-weapons."

"I know enough to get by."

"Including the dirty stuff?"

"Of course."

"You know how to break somebody's neck? Or, if you're feeling nice, how to choke them out quick?"

Jaune frowned, thinking for a moment, before shaking his head. "No, don't think I've done that."

"Heh, it's both a little funny and a little worrying that you had to think about that." Qrow obviously found more of the former, as he chuckled. "But I'll run you through it. Just have to get the right grip, twist at the right angle, put a bit of aura into it… it's something Miss Goodwitch will never teach you."

Jaune smirked and as he brought Crocea Mors before him and readied into a fighting stance. "Well then I'm lucky to have you here, huh?"

Qrow raised his own sword in return, and a screen above the arena displayed both of their aura meters.

"Yup, better count yourself lucky, Steve."

"We'll see."

The two smiled at each other, and for a moment, Jaune's worry about terror conspiracies, relationships and all the other complexities of this life in another world, just melted away. Instead, he revved Crocea Mors, took a step forward and began the fight.

* * *

"So Qrow told me he kicked your ass," Yang said, coming upon Jaune almost from nowhere, having appeared from around the corner as soon as he exited the academy. Undoubtedly, she must have seen him and chosen to lie in wait until she could pop out and embarrass him in front of his team.

It worked, as the rest of JNPR smirked while Jaune growled.

"I almost got him to yellow," Jaune said. "He told me it took years for you to get to that point."

"Meh," Yang shrugged off his rebuttal. "Just making sure my uncle's still a badass."

Then from around the corner of the building came the rest of RWBY, and both teams were now outside by the bullhead landing pads. Team RWBY still wore their school uniforms, but each member of JNPR was clad in their battle attire. On a shopping trip with Pyrrha early that morning, Jaune had found his own outfit: he wore a close-fitting dark blue jacket of sturdy wool, unzipped now and showing a sky-blue shirt, and with this he wore a pair of dark blue pants that matched the shade of the jacket. The only clothing that wasn't blue, would be the black gloves, boots and belt. He'd let Pyrrha arrange it all for him, and the girl in turn had tried her best to recall the fashion tips given to her by her own personal stylist.

There was no real armor to speak of for him, since huntsman only used armor for decorative purposes, such as Pyrrha's. Aura already outmatched most conventional armor anyway. Instead, he'd embraced the care they all took for aesthetics.

That was rewarded aptly when Ruby said, "You look great Jaune."

He smiled as she immediately walked to him, and he wasted no time stepping to her and wrapping one arm around her shoulders. He pulled her close beside him, and it all felt right. She pushed her shoulder against him and leaned close, and he relished the feeling of her warmth pressed into his side.

Something about this already felt so natural… so _right._ It felt as if their relationship had headed inexorably in this direction, and he'd only gone with the flow into this logical, wonderful progression.

"But how come you guys got picked for this?" Yang asked, pouting. "It's not fair! We're the one's who managed to wreck a mech!" She looked around furtively, before leaning in closer and more quietly saying, "And it's not like you've fought the White Fang more than we have."

Qrow had told him not to tell Ruby or her team the true nature of his mission. But then he'd seen her face after coming back from practice, and the thought of keeping up a lie like that…

"Because we've got experience too, and both mine and Pyrrha's semblances are perfect for a ruined city," Ren answered.

"Still wish we could come with you," Ruby said. She looked up at Jaune. "I would have liked to do this together."

He smiled back at her. "Yeah, well we are working together, sorta. You took on the mech fight, now we got this one. Qrow said he doubts it'll be too bad, just a recon thing, maybe some minor fighting. We might take them down if it isn't that big. Nothing more than what you all did with that mech and Torchwick."

Ruby bit her lip, but ultimately just nodded. "Yeah, you guys can do this," she said. "Just never thought that this was how Beacon would go…"

He squeezed her shoulder and pressed her closer against his side. "Hey, it'll be fine. Qrow knows his shit, and so do I."

"Yup!" Nora cheered. "We're gonna crush our enemies, see them driven before us and hear the lamentations of their women!" She clapped excitedly. "I can't wait!"

"What she said," Jaune agreed with a smile.

"Yeah, what she said," agreed another voice from behind.

"Hey unc!" Yang cheered with a wave. "You know, I'm gonna tell dad that you didn't take us on the super-special mission."

"And I'm gonna tell Steve that he needs to learn to shut his mouth sometimes," Qrow replied. As soon as he neared, he rapped Jaune's skull with his knuckles, knowing full well he hadn't kept his promise of secrecy. "But I honestly didn't expect him to keep his trap shut; nah, too dumb for that."

"Aw come on, I thought disregarding authority would make you proud!" Jaune joked.

"Hardy-har-har I'm laughing so loud," Qrow replied, shaking his head. Still, his demeanor was lax enough to show that there really wasn't any anger. After all, the order for secrecy had originally come from Ozpin, and Qrow had no problem immediately bucking that himself by talking to Jaune. "Just come on, our bullhead is coming soon, and Mountain Glenn awaits."

"Oh, but before you go!" Ruby pulled away from him and reached into her pocket. "I got us something we can look forward to!" Then she brandished two pieces of paper in her hand. "Tickets for that cruddy Adam Rambler movie I told you about!"

Jaune grinned from ear to ear, elation making his head feel lighter all of a sudden. "For a first real date?"

"A real first date!"

"And then you guys can safely make out in the darkness of a movie theater, far away from me," Qrow said, sounding revolted. The two of them blanched at his words. "Please just never tell me about your antics; the more I can pretend doesn't happen, the better."

"Shut up!" Ruby skipped to him, then kicked out, hitting him right in the shin. Qrow had seen the attack coming, so his aura had naturally flared in anticipation, but the semblance of speed allowed for a quick, vicious kick that still made the veteran huntsman wince.

"Hey, just let the old alcoholic ramble," Jaune said. He grabbed Ruby's hood and carefully pulled her back, while she still glared at her uncle. Honestly, he wanted to glare with her, but perhaps he just appreciated Qrow's humor more, and he wasn't so embarrassed by the banter. He distracted her with a question: "So what day is the movie?"

"Oh!" She instantly forgot her uncle and turned to him instead, brandishing the tickets proudly. "A week from now. You guys should be back by then, right?"

"Yeah, we should be," Qrow said, bending over to rub the fresh sore spot on his leg. "This should be a quick deal, and we'll know whether or not to take more action once we get there." He turned around upon hearing the revving engines of a new bullhead nearing the landing pads. "I think that's ours, actually."

The bullhead touched down a few dozen feet away, but as it adjusted itself, a gust of air flew from its engines toward the group, flinging up hair and forcing some to cover their eyes from kicked-up dust. The roar of its engines died down momentarily into a hum as it settled on the ground.

"So come on kiddos, field trip is underway," Qrow said, wasting no time in marching toward their ride.

Jaune nodded to his team, who moved out after their 'chaperone' who was already neglecting his supposed responsibility by taking out his flask.

But before leaving, there was just one thing left to do. He looked and saw Ruby's face, now etched with concern as the prospect of him leaving on a dangerous mission became realized.

"I'll be alright," he told Ruby, soothing her worry. "I guess the timing of all this came out pretty bad, huh? Together for just a few days before some stupid crap like this splits that up."

"It's not as if you're moving to another planet," Weiss said, though with less venom than she usually had for him.

"Aw come on," Yang cooed, voice saccharine and overly-affectionate, as if one was speaking to a puppy. "Let the love-birds have their sweetness!"

"Yang…" Ruby grumbled and blushed, turning away from her sister and burying her head into his chest. He was pretty sure he heard her mumbling about how terrible her family was. All of that was so cute he could only laugh and smile wider.

"But yeah, I'll be looking forward to the movie," he told her. Instantly, she perked up and smiled at him, and that in turn only made his mood even better. "So I hope that you won't go off and find some other guy while I'm gone—"

He became silent when Ruby suddenly stretched up, standing almost on her tip-toes to quickly press her lips against his own.

It was the first time they'd kissed since their initial outburst of passion a couple days prior, and since then neither had had courage enough to come close to recreating that.

Well, until now.

Jaune still didn't really know what to say, wide-eyed and paralyzed as Ruby pulled back, meekly grinning.

"Oh come on!" Qrow called out from beside the bullhead. "Can you hurry up already and stop acting like characters in some dumb rom-com?"

Ruby's face was red, but her accomplished smile was still wide. "So go on," she said. "They're waiting for you, hero."

Hero…

Jaune smiled again, and in that moment, he became convinced that everything would turn out alright.

* * *

The powerful flashlight cut through the shady corridor, lighting the way for two figures stumbling through the dark. The beam shone upon a narrow, man-made hall that may once have been a service tunnel of some kind, but now cobwebs clung to its sides, alongside mold that filled up the cracks in the concrete and festered in damp old patches of water in the sunken floor.

"Come on," one hissed to the other. "If we don't hurry up, then he'll get to us." He turned back and peered into the darkness behind them, but he saw no hint of movement. He threw the beam of his flashlight around, but still couldn't see too far back.

"Are you sure it was him?" the other, a woman, asked. She kept her voice a low whisper, not daring to cause any more noise than necessary. She glanced back as well, but unlike her companion, her eyes narrowed and pierced the darkness further than his could. Out of her pants a bushy tail perked up nervously. "I didn't see anything."

"Well I swear I heard him," the man replied. "And if he catches us…"

"He's too big to fit through these corridors, right?"

As if to prove her point, they came upon the end of the tunnel, where a steel door stood barely wide enough for one of them to slip through at a time. The man wasted no time slipping out a key and unlocking the padlock on the door, then hauling it open.

"Yeah, but he's smart, and he's got all sorts of ways to crawl around down here," he replied, taking the initiative and passing through the doorframe. "And he can see in the dark as well as you can, hear better, smell better. If we can get back soon, we _might_ be alright."

"I dunno…" The woman sounded unconvinced, but followed him nonetheless. She took out a key of her own and dragged shut the door behind her, then locked it. "If he saw us, then aren't we already screwed?"

"Maybe, maybe not. Might as well try."

They now stood in a larger, abandoned hall that was once a part of the sewers for Mountain Glenn. This section had since become bone-dry, cut off from the rest by a cave-in. The two advanced through, wincing at their echoing footfalls. Even their heartbeats seemed to boom in that empty, quiet space.

"We're not too far—"

They rounded a corner, and the man's light suddenly revealed a hideous set of wickedly curved and sharp teeth, set in a maw that towered several feet above him.

* * *

On the roof of a derelict skyscraper, stood a man clad in black, wearing a gas mask.

He towered there, arms crossed, waiting patiently. Around him lay the ruins of what could have been a great city; from his vantage point, he saw it all. Such possibility had been there: storefronts, apartments, schools, a hospital, a library. Everything humans needed to succeed. But at the edge of it all he saw a towering wall, and one section of such wall was battered down completely, torn open. He could only imagine what kind of carnage must have ensued when that damage was made. This place must have been in utter chaos, a lively mess of destruction, with screaming and flailing and running.

But now it was nothing. The dust had settled. The rain and the wind had scratched away at each surface, driving out color or unique texture, making everything flat and grey, a tyranny of dead monotony. All that broke the silence and stillness was the occasional bird, elk, gust of wind or Grimm. Although, most of the monsters—as he'd learned—chose to settle in the forest nearby, or deeper in the earth. The city was now abandoned by even the destroyers.

Then he heard it: a distant rumble, like the lingering shock of thunder. It became gradually more powerful, louder and louder. He turned and peered into the distance, seeing an aircraft quickly closing in. The growl of its engines grew as it neared, until it finally came upon him and the roaring crescendo of burning dust was close to deafening, angrily whipping up air and debris in a tumultuous mini-storm before him.

The bullhead slowly descended close to the weak old roof, but stopped a few feet above. The door on the side slid open quickly, and another black-clad figure with a gas mask jumped down. Someone in the bullhead (dressed exactly the same) then slid it back shut, and the bullhead hovered back up into the air, then turned and shot out toward the horizon, roar quickly fading to nothing.

The man originally on the roof saluted and stood to attention, shouting: "Commander, welcome to Mountain Glenn!" His voice was raspy and muffled through the gas-mask.

The new arrival brought up one hand and stiffly saluted in return, and then they both dropped the formality.

"How was Atlas?" asked the original man. "I hope you enjoyed the sights."

"Remnant's Prussia is certainly an interesting place," the Commander replied. "Full of opportunity for us, as the population and political situation seem quite convertible: a people already weary of the sub-humans, an industry already well developed and a government that already behaves in the most optimal manner, as an army with a state."

"And was the target amiable?"

"Cordovin can be an ally, certainly. And I think that some other elements of the Atlesian military still long for the days before Ironwood." The Commander stepped closer to his companion and clasped one hand on his arm. "But besides business, how are you? It's been a while."

The other only shook his head and sighed, a dramatic and violent burst of air through his gas mask. "It's awful working alone with these sub-humans and moral degenerates."

"Well then it's good punishment for your failure at the docks," the Commander said, raising his hand and rapping his companion's gas mask with a quick, light strike of the knuckles. Then he only chuckled. "But no, you're still one of the few I could trust with something like this…"

"I know that," he said as he lightly slapped away the Commander's hand. "And I understand… begrudgingly."

That note of grouchiness at the end made the Commander chuckle once more. "Ah well, how's the operation going?"

"The White Fang and the two criminals have been working busily. Preparation's nearly complete, and soon we'll be able to launch the breach."

"Excellent," replied the Commander. His voice hung dry and passionless through the gas mask. "We'll make sure it's a bloodbath."

"And the green-shirts?"

"They'll be on site, as planned. They'll be there to clean up the mess and take the spotlight."

"Perfect," he said, nodding approvingly. "This will be the big step we needed."

"If all goes right," said the Commander, "it will be a leap, not a step." He then glanced away and looked out over the city. "But this… this is Mountain Glenn, is it?"

"It is."

"Hm."

He stopped talking, instead choosing to walk near the side of the roof, close to the crumbling edge. His friend didn't speak, letting the Commander instead take in the sight for the first time. The emotionless, flat eyes of the gas mask gazed at the ruined buildings, the broken roads and the shattered dreams. It was all one immense testament to man's capacity for failure.

"Reminds me of home."

* * *

 **Welp, the next few chapters will wrap up volume two, and finally a few reveals will come to push Jaune to his limit. Please, review and comment, until next time.**


	31. Chapter 31

**So someone asked about Jaune's power armor. Don't worry, I haven't forgotten that ;)**

 **Also, a THOUSAND favs! Thanks so much for all the support everybody!**

 **And this chapter will be the beginning of a pretty big oof for Jaune, as if he hasn't had enough already.**

* * *

"These men are necessary for the security of our events," the man said. "Not only that, but these men are by and large veterans and even some hunters, people who have put their lives on the line for Vale. And they continue to do that now, volunteering to protect a political movement they believe can save the heart of our country."

Amber eyes looked at the little screen of a scroll, and red lips smiled.

Cinder Fall sat on her bed, Emerald dutifully sitting on her own nearby, as she watched the interview on VNN, two people occupying different seats across from one another in a small room. On the right was the renown face of Lisa Lavender, one of VNN's well-known anchors.

Lavender crossed her legs, cleared her throat and addressed the man opposite her: "Well Mr. Fantoche, some people are claiming that any buildup of what amounts to a military force in a political context is… well, not ideal for a political forum. How would you contest that?"

The man across from her only smiled, and he smiled well. He was uncharacteristic of the usual 'politician' caricature: older, wealthier, sometimes bloated. No, he was slim and young, with years barely numbering in the thirties. Yet this was a man with a face increasingly well known, leading a movement whose name was becoming household common.

"Well Lisa, the simple fact of the matter is that this isn't a military organization, or anything nefarious. This is us providing personal security, as well as a sense of meaning and purpose to our members. Yes, we've started up some self-defense training programs, some classes, some seminars." He clasped his hands together, in a manner similar to pious man's pledge. "But this is just to keep ourselves safe. You want to talk about organized militaries? Talk about Atlas trampling on our sovereignty, or the White Fang invading us, or the criminals in our own city running rampant." He formed his hands up now into a fist, a bold promise: "And these are precisely the kind of enemies to our city and our democracy that the New Dawn plans on defeating. And for the moment, if the current Vale armed forces and police force are unable to do it, then we'll keep ourselves safe from these threats."

"And how many 'green-shirts' are there, as you call them?"

He shrugged passively. "I'm not certain of the exact number, but I think we're closing in on a hundred, and we've got our self-defense classes helping more people." He leaned over, closer and more assertive to the woman, but without losing his posture, his sense of dignity and composure. "And understand, these people are patriots. Any of the slander from a few politicians saying we're trying to intimidate people is pure lies. We're patriots. That's why we've decided the volunteers should wear green, echoing the citizen guard in the great war and the faunus war—"

Cinder pressed a button on her scroll, letting the screen go black; she'd seen enough.

"So it's going to plan?" Emerald asked, a glint of satisfaction in her eye.

"Oh yes," Cinder replied, "all on track."

* * *

Jaune Arc was stuck in the dark place.

"You know they're just sad for you," said Bishop Beauvais, speaking in that soft, charming and refined southern accent of his, the accent of those Enclave monsters.

They stood just a few feet apart from one another, and although Jaune was within striking distance, he could not move. He could not even move his lips or flex his lungs to scream, to yell, to shout as he wanted to, wanted so badly. Instead, he stared with all the hatred he could muster.

"They pity you, because they recognize how pathetic you are," Bishop continued, smiling wide as he always did. "They see something so broken, so sad, so utterly incapable… and they need to try and take care of it. They're good people, just doing their best… and eventually, they'll die for that." Bishop stepped closer, until their faces were mere inches apart, and Jaune felt that bastard's cool, sterile breath on his face, saw the flat and murderous look in his blue eyes. "They'll die, because they love you, and because you love them, too. They'll do their best for you, and you'll do your best for them. And they'll stupidly think they can rely on you to keep them safe… not knowing that your best has never been good enough." Bishop chuckled airily and his smile widened. "So—"

A fist crashed into his face.

Bishop Beauvais was hurled back by the force of a vicious punch, one which cracked the teeth in his despicable smile and shut him up. He landed hard on the floor, a tough _thump_ reverberating through the whole dark space.

Jaune looked down at one hand, formed into a fist, which was now covered in some blood and spittle. His eyes were wide, unbelieving. All the times he'd tried to do that… he'd never succeeded before. Not here. Not against him.

Or had he ever _really_ been trying?

"You…" Bishop still smiled, and now Jaune saw shattered teeth in that smarmy grin, with blood seeping out through his lips. His stupid voice held an edge of pain to it. "You…"

"Shut up," Jaune commanded. He narrowed his eyes, glaring down at his old enemy, lying defeated on the floor. Jaune shook his head. "I'm not afraid of you. Not anymore."

Bishop's smile wavered for a moment, but then it widened again, lips peeling back grotesquely far, inhumanly far, revealing fully his shattered and bloody teeth. He chuckled.

"You should be," Bishop rasped.

It was then that Jaune opened his eyes, spurred awake.

He looked to the side and saw his partner was poking him in the face. Pyrrha smiled. "Sweet dreams?" she asked.

"Sorta," Jaune replied. He lightly swatted her hand away and yawned. The memory of what he'd just done in the dream was already fading from him, but he knew that it had something to do with Bishop, and he knew, in a satisfied and primal way, that he had won.

That made him grin.

"We're close to Mountain Glenn now," Pyrrha told him.

"That why you woke me up?" He poked her in the face, earning a yelp from his partner. "Rude. Shoulda let me sleep more."

Now it was Pyrrha who batted his hand away, but she giggled as she did so. "Please, you're the team leader, so you have to be awake for deliberations."

"Yeah!" Nora agreed, voice raised loud enough to be heard over the rumble of the bullhead's engine—and then some.

"Use your inside voice, brat," Qrow said. He grumbled and rubbed his head, giving Jaune the sneaking suspicion that the man may have had a bit more to drink the night before, or perhaps not enough? It was hard to tell with Qrow.

"I'm hungry," Nora replied, speaking just as loud as before. "Are we there yet?"

"No, god damn it," Qrow grumbled. "But we're not too far away now, so hang on and let's get over this."

So Qrow broke down the situation: he told them about the areas they'd scope out, gave them paper maps along with the ones they'd downloaded on their scrolls, told them to watch out not only for Grimm and the White fang, but smugglers and salvagers as well, reminded them they'd be quickly jumping out of the bullhead and finally wished them all good luck.

"Luck and I don't have the best relationship," he said. "But let's hope the old lady gives us a break this time, huh?"

"You just jinxed us, asshole," Jaune said.

Qrow opened his mouth to retort, but the pilot called back, "Alright, we're almost there."

Any air of mockery or funny-business dissipated, as the team accepted the gravity of their situation. They all felt the bullhead rattle and dip as it lowered its altitude, and when Jaune looked out the window, he saw the ruined city in the distance, and he saw it grow. He knew that he was approaching that colossal wreck of a place, but a foreboding sense came upon him that made it feel more as if the city were approaching him, as if Mountain Glenn was growing and advancing. As he looked at it, images of other places, of the Pitt and of DC, hovered in the back of his mind, all their drab shapes and slumped colors seeming to mix together in his perception and memory.

Before he knew it, the city was upon them, the door had opened and they had jumped out.

It all came back to him. It was almost nostalgic. The dead buildings were stripped of color, looking now like drab skeleton, or the forsaken husks of molting insects. They'd been dumped out in the middle of an intersection by the side of the city, near its great wall. So all around him was the ruin of civilization. The survival and tactical instincts he'd developed on earth came back to him immediately; it was like riding a bike.

The bullhead's engine exhaust buffeted him as it blasted off, sending his hair into a frenzy and forcing him to squint. Nevertheless, he wasted no time dashing to the side of the street they'd landed in, drawing his pistol as he did so. There was an abandoned shop with its windows blown out, and he hopped through the opening. Glass crunched beneath his boots and ancient dust fumed up with each step. He held the Mysterious Magnum up before him, finger ready to pull the trigger and gun down anything that moved without begging his mercy.

"Alright," Pyrrha said behind him as she and the others followed him into the shop. "Are you sure we shouldn't break up? If we broke into two groups, we could—"

"No. We already went over this." When Jaune said that, his tone of voice enforced that he didn't plan on accepting an argument contrary. "Too dangerous. So easy to be spotted, outnumbered, ambushed. No way are we breaking up."

"Then—"

"I'm not done," he said, cutting off Nora. His speech was clipped and hushed, and he didn't even look or seem to pay too much attention to the others as he spoke. Every word he said held a tinge of authority—or was it paranoia—and his voice was strained, like a taught garrote. His shoulders were hunched, and his posture was tense.

"Don't rely on your eyes too much," he said. "So easy for things to find cover and hide. Listen. Always listen. When you think you see something, get to cover. Always stay close to cover. Never go out in the open. Keep your aura ready. Try not to make much noise. Don't shoot unless you have to." He pulled out the paper map Qrow had given him, then looked out through the window, up to the sun. "East is that way," he pointed. "So lets break through these buildings and head—"

They heard gunshots in the distance.

Instantly, Jaune hopped back and pressed himself against the cement wall, and the others raised their weapons and flocked to him, with only Qrow drawing his sword and taking up a different position, crouched behind a counter.

"Jaune—"

"Shush," he said, cutting off Nora. "Only talk when you have to." He craned his neck and faced his ear out toward the sky, struggling to hear anything else after what he'd heard before.

"In the distance," Qrow said, "not aimed for us."

Jaune nodded but continued listening. He heard nothing other than some nevermore squawking, the wind and the distant howling of some Grimm, perhaps a few beowolves.

"We came here looking for trouble," he eventually said. "Let's find some. Follow me." He then darted back from his post by the wall and vaulted back out through the window, then sprinted down the side of the building, ducking into an alleyway. The others followed.

From there, he navigated through narrow alleys and briefly across open streets, running as hard as he could to limit his time in the open. Whenever he needed to dash across a street, he first listened and looked. Where he could, he even cracked through side doors and into buildings. He did all of this while still keeping a mental map of his direction, being well practiced in how to keep a sense of which way he had gone and which way was what, despite being in unfamiliar territory, despite having his vision obscured by taller buildings. He knew the work of ruins. His team followed behind him dutifully, Qrowing at the rear, looking back over his shoulder frequently.

At one point, he came upon a few canis, the first Grimm they found in Mountain Glenn. They were doglike and lanky creatures, three in total, wandering down the alley he'd chosen.

He stopped and said, "Pyrrha and Ren."

Pyrrha nodded and stepped forward, as did Ren. He'd explained this tactic to them the night before, when they'd stayed huddled in their room, examining the map of Mountain Glenn, planning their route, listening to Jaune's experience.

One of the canis looked up, and it saw them. When the beast growled, the others were alerted as well. Jaune stepped aside as Pyrrha and Ren took point position, brandishing their quick, bladed weapons. All the best to make the least noise.

The canis growled, charged and leapt. Pyrrha and Ren deftly flashed their weapons. The Grimm hit the ground, slashed apart and already dissolving into smoke.

"Good job," Jaune said, sparing some speech for a hint of praise. He crept forward, breathing steady, ear turned up and listening. His eyes were focused perfectly on what was ahead of him.

Nora looked at her team leader, then to Ren, who could only shrug. None of them had ever seen him like this, so engrossed and focused. It was surprising—a little concerning, as well.

But they made good time, and no more Grimm got in their way as they advanced in the direction of the gunshots.

Jaune had expected to find some dissolving Grimm, shot down by whatever White Fang guard or enterprising scavenger had shot them down. But that isn't what he saw when he peeked around a corner, out into a main avenue of the city.

"Gods…" Pyrrha said, looking over his shoulder.

Two bodies lay on the ground, further down the street, sprawled on the sidewalk. They were covered in blood, as was the ground on which they lay, along with a spray of broken glass and bits of brick, presumably from the busted open windowpane on the shop beside them.

Jaune pushed Pyrrha back behind him, then brought out his scroll. "Keep lookout in the other direction," he told the others. "I'm going to focus in on this." He turned on the camera and zoomed in while crouched behind the street corner, examining the corpses. As he did so, he brought his aura on guard, and also ignored the hushed whispers of Pyrrha informing the others of what she'd seen.

He observed for several minutes, before pulling back behind the corner and into the alley once more. He didn't stop to explain his findings until they were further back into the alley, all crouched by a dumpster. Even then, he told Ren to keep lookout as they spoke.

"Their blood was still pooled up around them. Liquid. Fresh. Whatever killed them is probably close.

"Two bodies," he whispered to them. "They wore the uniforms and masks of the White Fang."

"Suspicions confirmed," Qrow said.

"Yes," Jaune replied. "But I don't like how they died."

"Grimm?"

"I don't like it," he repeated. "All seems fishy. There was glass and bricks all around them and the busted window, so something big must have been hiding in there and attacked, ambush predator."

"Plenty of Grimm hunt like that," Qrow said.

"But this is more complicated," Jaune said. "Grimm are vicious and crazy from everything I've seen in Port's class. That sound right Qrow?"

"Yeah, they're a wild bunch."

"Well, this was pretty clean."

"Didn't look clean…" Pyrrha said. She bit her lip, distraught and thinking back to what were probably the first dead bodies she'd ever seen.

"Well it was," Jaune continued. "At least compared to a lot of other shit I've seen. Whatever killed them went right for the kill. Their chests were cut through, gouged right in the hearts. Each seemed to have been stabbed by something big, like a large spear—or a claw."

Jaune's eyes narrowed.

"I remember seeing attacks like that back in the wasteland. It came from… a specific kind of Grimm."

"What kind?"

He didn't answer for a moment. "Tricky beowolves," he lied. It was the closest to the truth he was comfortably getting. "Fast executions, straight for the central mass, plunge claws right through. If they're feeling hungry, they'll start eating. If they're just in a bad mood, then they'll tear a few limbs off."

Nora swallowed. Her grip about Magnhild tightened.

"So whatever killed them did it fast and did it smart; it's good at killing. It hid, then knew exactly where to strike at the right time. I saw some gunshots up around the shop it had come out of… they were barely able to desperately pull the trigger before it got them down. Tore right into their hearts in a second."

"So there are Grimm around here that are good hunters," Pyrrha said.

"There's one other thing that throw this all off." Jaune shook his head. "I didn't see their guns."

"What?"

"They didn't have their guns on them," Jaune repeated. "I saw the bullet holes and heard the gunshots, so they must have fired. But those corpses don't have any guns on them. They were taken away."

The others adopted pensive looks, not knowing what to think of what he just told them.

"So either they hurled their guns into the distance as they were being mauled to death," Jaune said, "or their guns were taken off their bodies. Not only that, but I saw that their pants pockets were ripped open.

"Something looted their corpses after they were killed."

"So some scavengers who wanted to pick up after a Grimm?"

"Probably," Jaune said. "So keep in mind that we definitely have some sentient enemies here—"

Jaune was cut off by growling.

He looked above him, at the source of the noise.

A beowolf peered back down at him, sticking its head out of a window further up the building. A second beowolf peaked out of another window. A warning from Ren let him know that more canis had come around the bend of the alley.

"Well, looks like we weren't the only ones who decided to check out the gunshots," Qrow grumbled.

Jaune aimed his pistol and fired, blowing the head off of one beowolf. His friends leveled their funs as well, all firing. Nora blew apart a whole suite in a building above them with a well-aimed grenade through a window.

Breath deep. Hold. Release.

His chest rose and fell rhythmically as he pulled the trigger and tore apart an approaching pack of canis. There were, however, more than six, and the magnum quickly ran out. He holstered it and drew Crocea Mors.

Pulling back on the chainsword's trigger, it began its metallic scream, cruel little metal whirring excitedly, ready to maim and tear.

So the Lone Wanderer got to work, not noticing something even further above him. Near the very top of the building, two beady golden eyes stared down into the alley, taking in the sudden scene of growing carnage as the huntsman tore through the oncoming Grimm, mindless monsters that charged in even though the slaughter was wholly one-sided.

But this creature sat back and watched, observing the young man, with his blonde hair, scarred eye and chainsword. Quite distinctive.

* * *

"Hya!"

Ruby threw herself through the air and swept Crescent Rose's great blade before her, aiming straight for her partner's head.

Weiss quickly ducked and dashed to the side, letting Ruby miss and hurtle past her.

Then she put two fingers in her mouth and whistled loudly, a piercingly shrill sound that immediately made Ruby cringe, as well as Blake and Yang, sitting on the benches beside the training room arena.

"That's it," Weiss said. "Let's take a break and talk about that."

"About what?" Ruby asked. She scowled, disappointed at the spar ending early. She'd barely broken a sweat, but now it was being called off?

"Remember Miss Goodwitch's last lesson?" Weiss asked. "When she lectured about keeping control of your power and direction?"

"Well yeah, I always pay attention in Goodwitch's lectures," Ruby said, "unlike others, heh."

"Well," Weiss continued, "I think you should have payed closer attention, because you really ought to be more careful with big swings like that. They count too much on hitting, and if you miss—"

"Then I'm going too fast to be hit anyway," Ruby said with a shrug. "I'm not dumb. Yeah, I know that if I miss, then I'm open, but there's no way anybody has the reaction time or speed to hit me when I dash like that." Ruby swung Crescent Rose up onto one shoulder, proudly smiling and brandishing her 'baby'. "My semblance is too much for any Grimm, or person either. You'd have to be crazy fast to hit me when I really go in like that. And strong enough to get enough force in time. And really accurate so it doesn't just get deflected by my aura; if it's not at the perfect angle, then the worst that will happen to me is being thrown off course."

"Yeah," Yang said from the sidelines. "Same thing with my semblance. Rubes and I go too fast or too hard for people to cope with some attacks, other than to just get out of the way."

"And Miss Goodwitch has warned us against relying too much on our semblances," Weiss said. "And that's why she pointed out Jaune as an example." Weiss's nose crinkled as if the need to recognize anything positive about Jaune Arc felt to her like smelling something vile. "She actually somewhat likes the fact that he doesn't even know what his semblance is. He's trained in a way that doesn't make him dangerously reliant. Winter told me the same thing, and I've tried my best to have a style which synergizes with my semblance, rather than rely on it completely."

"Well what's even the point of that?" Yang and Ruby said at once.

"Yeah," Ruby continued. "We have semblances for a reason—to _use_ them. Why not use them a lot?"

"Because then they can replace skill," Blake spoke up.

"Precisely," Weiss said, sticking her chin in the air, prouder now that her argument's been corroborated. "Reliance breeds recklessness. Just imagine you get in a situation where your semblance doesn't help? Or if there's someone out there who _is_ fast, strong and accurate enough to hit you when you dash like that?"

"Well whatever," Ruby said. She sighed and collapsed Crescent Rose, then placed it on her hip. "I'm not stupid, okay?"

"I'm not calling you stupid," Weiss said. "I'm just trying to be as detailed as I can, especially after Goodwitch's last lesson."

"Hmm…" Yang hummed, mulling over the advice. "Dad did like to tell us not to rely on our semblances too much, to be careful."

"Eh," Ruby said. She only shrugged and moved off the arena, pulling out her scroll and sitting down on the nearest bench. "What do you think I should change up?"

"Just try not to fling yourself around as much," Weiss said. "You follow through to keep momentum, and that's fine, but just make sure that openings aren't too major."

"Yeah yeah," Ruby said, turning on her scroll. "I'll try to be more careful."

"Are you even listening?"

"Yeah, I am, it's just a little hard for me to think how I can change up my whole style…"

"Well, I'm not saying to change it completely," Weiss said. She finally sheathed her sword and stepped off the stage herself, sitting next to Ruby. "Just put a bit more thought into it, since right now it feels like you really just go with the flow…"

"Well fights are pretty flowy," Ruby said, pulling up apps on her phone.

Blake and Yang took this as a cue to step onto the stage themselves and fit some training in.

"What are you even looking at now?" Weiss asked.

"Just looking up more of that town we're supposed to help defend for the mission," Ruby said. She sighed deeply, face becoming downcast. She scrolled through photos of sleepy-looking village stuck in the middle of a forest. "This is going to suck. I mean, it's not even that far from Vale, and there's only been a few Grimm sightings…"

"Well, it _is_ an introductory mission," Weiss said.

Ruby scowled. "Still, it makes me mad considering what JNPR is doing…"

* * *

Their small fire crackled quietly, yet it was the only real thing they heard in the night of Mountain Glenn. Jaune stood apart from it, beside the only window in the small apartment they'd settled in the for the night. He peered outside, idly wishing they could have taken Blake for her ability to see through the night.

Behind him, in the cramped living room, was the rest of his team. The fire burned dimly, just as he'd insisted; it was just strong enough to provide a little warmth and heat up their MRE's. Also according to Jaune's orders, they'd stacked their backpacks between it and the window, limiting the amount of light that went outside. Jaune had originally not wanted a fire at all, for it wasn't too cold and light is dangerous at night. The others had insisted, however, so he compromised and let them have one for a few hours.

Now he just stood by the window, looking out. Their room was on the second floor, chosen because fewer animals or Grimm would wander in and they could all easily jump out to escape in an emergency.

At least the moon was full, so he saw out into the street before them fairly easily. He watched the occasional canis stalk by, but that was all. They'd done a lot of killing already during the daytime.

Jaune sighed and glanced back to his friends and his mentor, all sat around the fire. He was regretting volunteering for the first watch, since he really just wanted to sit down and get some rest after the long day of fighting. He just shook his head and looked back out the window, not wanting to keep his gaze away too long.

This was a strange situation for him. He tried not to let his mind wander, to focus on the watch. He really did. However, it was too boring, uneventful, and he had too much to think about. He was out here in a brand new world, but somehow he'd wound up right back where he'd come from. He was leading his team through a ruined city. He'd failed in doing that once.

I won't fail again.

He clenched his fists and scowled, glaring with a new intensity out into the night, angry at nothing in particular, so much as the situation as a whole; the entire city offended him with its familiarity and its danger.

And on top of that, he'd founder a mentor of sorts. He called him his mentor… even though they really hadn't done much at all together. But Qrow had given him everything he now cared for… there must be some special title for that.

His silent guard was broken with the sound of footsteps nearing him.

He turned and saw Pyrrha approach. He gave her a courteous nod before turning his attention back out the window.

"Hey," she said as she leaned against the wall beside him. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired."

"Same." She waited a moment for him to continue the talk, but then sighed when she realized he wouldn't. It was a frustrated sigh. "How else are you feeling? You've been on edge all day."

"I think that's reasonable," Jaune replied, "given how dangerous our situation is. Stuck in a Grimm-infested city with some dangerous people probably hanging around too."

"It's not ideal, that's for sure," Pyrrha said, chuckling dryly, humorlessly. "But I saw it in you since we were assigned to this mission, a kind of nervousness. And ever since we landed here, it's been much more intense.

"You're so on edge, so focused and serious now."

"Hm." He kept looking out of the window, trying to pay attention even as he thought of a reply. "I just don't like being back in a place like this."

"It reminds you of home," Pyrrha said.

"Yeah." Jaune sighed, and his hand naturally fell to rest on the pistol at his waist as the general impression of his past experiences fell upon him. "My home was just like this, ruined old cities filled with monsters and murderers. A lot of people die in places like that. I just want to make sure we're all safe."

He gulped.

He thought back to time on Earth. He remembered the hellish trenches outside the Washington monument, where he'd had to fight supermutants. He remembered a terrifying experience of hiding from a deathclaw in a factory he unluckily decided to shelter in one night. He remembered that horrifying first experience at the grocery store Moira sent him too. Of course, there was the nightmarish steel-runs at the Pitt, as well.

"Everywhere I look, I think of all the possible monsters and crazy shit that could be hiding there," he said. Supermutants, centaurs, raiders… Enclave. "It scares me, and I don't want to be caught off-guard, and I don't want to fail all of you."

"We appreciate it," Pyrrha said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Being so wound up, he flinched at the moment of contact, but knowing who it was, he immediately calmed down, even leaned back a bit so her hand pressed against him with a bit more pressure, so he knew for sure that she was close and comforting.

"How about you go sit down," Pyrrha said. She lightly squeezed his shoulder. "I can take first watch. You've worked hard today."

A part of him wanted to contest that, but a larger part of him knew by now that his mom friend wouldn't stand seeing him under duress like this any longer. He smiled.

"Thanks," he said. "I'd like that."

Breath deep. Hold. Release.

He stepped away from the window and let Pyrrha take his place. As he did, his shoulders finally seemed to relax. He hadn't even realized that they'd been so tense for so long. He sighed as it felt like a whole host of muscles in his body at once seemed to comfortably melt a little.

"Oh hey," he told her, a little smile on his face. "I forgot to show you something."

Pyrrha turned from the window for a second to look as Jaune brought up his scroll. She gasped and smiled when she saw what it was.

"Ruby sent me a ton of photos of Zwei," Jaune said excitedly. "Some go all the way back to when he was a puppy!"

"Awwww," Pyrrha cooed, taking the scroll from him to swipe through the photo album. Indeed, there was a tiny Zwei cupped in the hands of a much younger Ruby, then one of him being hoisted by a younger Yang. He was barely more than a little ball of fur back then, but he still had those nice big watery eyes and that cute little tongue sticking out—

They heard gunshots.

Instantly, Jaune swiped his scroll from Pyrrha's hands and stashed it into his pocket as he ducked toward the window, pressed himself against the wall beside it. He drew the Mysterious Magnum and peered outside.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

As his lungs flexed, his eyes strained to tear through the darkness. Deeper in the room, his other teammates and Qrow also sprung to their feet. Nora quickly stamped out the fire, just as he'd ordered them to, should any suspicious sound arise. This was a bit more than suspicious.

They heard a loud, guttural roar, one which echoed in itself and carried far through the night. Jaune's eyes widened and his measured breathing caught for a moment. That exact roar… it was just like a certain sound he'd learned in the wasteland, a dreaded hint that you were in big trouble.

He shook his head and quietly whispered to himself, "No way." None of those things were on Remnant. Just another odd Grimm.

"Someone help me!" He heard the desperate scream, followed by more gunfire. This time, he saw the muzzle flashes just down the street, and when he squinted, he made out a figure in the dark. It ran closer towards them, before turning a street just down the block.

Then he saw a large shape rush across the street after it. The movement of the shape, even in the dark… its specific swift gait gave Jaune an uncomfortable sense of dim familiarity. He'd seen something run in the dark like that before.

But no, there are certainly plenty of Grimm out there who behave like that as well. Probably still just tripped up by that uncanny roar.

Still, he felt goosebumps all along his skin.

"Come on," Jaune said. "That guy's fucked if we don't help"–he place both hands on the blown-out windowsill, ready to vault–"and he might know something useful!"

Jaune jumped out, focusing his aura to have a painless landing on the sidewalk below. He moved forward, quickly running across the street, followed immediately by Pyrrha and then the others. He hugged the wall of the first building he came across, then kept running down the street.

"Help me!" he heard again, following by more gunshots. Although he couldn't see the muzzle flashes now, the shots were near. The screaming was followed up by another chilling roar, close indeed. The predator and its prey were near.

He looked up at a building just ahead of him, what looked like an abandoned warehouse. It was dead ahead in the direction of the screaming. Must be it. An open loading bay door lead inside. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure Pyrrha and the others were rights behind him. They were barely a few feet away. Reassured, he didn't stop to hop up into the entrance—

Instantly, the sound of rusty metal grinding against itself screeched through the night, and the giant loading bay door shuttered down behind him wickedly fast, a ton of metal cutting through the air like a guillotine. Surprised, Pyrrha yelped and stepped back so as not be crushed. This let the door crash against the ground between she and her team leader.

Jaune was trapped.

"Fuck!" He brought up the Mysterious Magnum before him, ready to fire. He frantically glanced left and right, seeing only the debris of a bare and empty warehouse, all dark and obscure, barely any light coming through big broken windows. However, he glimpsed some slight movement to the side, and he looked just in time to see a humanoid figure ducking down behind a bulky machine, what could have been the controls for the bay doors.

"You!" He pointed his gun at the hiding man. "What the fuck—"

That same terrible roar, chilling and loud and reverberating, tore through the empty space. And to Jaune's horror, it came from just above him.

He barely looked up in time to see a large, dark figure descending from an overhung railing. He desperately hurled himself out of the way, managing to dodge the creature's great claws as they swiped for him. It landed with a loud _wumpf!_ and a spray of dust and dirt.

Jaune hit the floor and rolled away, then clumsily aimed and fired.

The tough slug hit the monster's shoulder… where a bright flash sparked, and the slug was deflected off the creature's skin.

Jaune's eyes widened.

Aura. This monster had aura.

In his moment of shock, the creature charged. Jaune cocked the magnum in time to pull the trigger just as the creature lashed out with a long, clawed hand, which struck his wrist hard. The sudden hit, combined with the buck of the magnum, launched his gun right out of his hand.

Then the creature ducked, reached both arms around him and drew Jaune close into a tight, crushing embrace. Its legs kicked off, and Jaune felt himself get carried away.

The loading bay doors suddenly exploded after this desperate exchange, lasting barely a few seconds. Pyrrha had used her polarity to rip it down, but the monster already had Jaune in his grip, and it was already bounding away with him across the warehouse floor.

"No!" he heard one of his teammates scream. He couldn't tell who it was, his senses muffled from being pressed against a leathery chest, hearing just this creature's tough heartbeat and low breathing. He was distracted also by the feeling of his ribs being compressed by the monster's great arms, an effect that made it barely possible for him to breath, let alone call out in more than quiet wheezes. Even with his own superhuman strength, Jaune was unable to outmatch the monster's terrible grip as it charged across the warehouse, ducking under a hail of gunfire from his team.

It jumped up onto a crate, then leapt off and out of a window. Old glass shattered as the creature launched itself out the building. Jaune felt cold hair rush against his hair as the monster bounded down the street, then ducked into a building.

That continued for a little while: the creature expertly dodged through the abandoned buildings, leaping and running by a few curious and startled Grimm as it did so. Eventually, the thing crashed into an old storefront. The cash-register section had been swallowed up by an old sinkhole, now a dark entrance to the world below. The creature dove in without hesitation.

So Jaune was left even more out of sort as his whole world became utterly black. The rancid smell of ancient sewage and fresh mold made him gag, and his stomach churned with the uneven, quick gait of his captor.

The monster slid this way and that, ran around this corner and then another. Jaune realized darkly that there was no way he could possibly find his way back out of this damp labyrinth.

Suddenly the creature stopped, and Jaune's unpleasant vice-trap situation was ended as it dropped him to the hard, stone floor.

Instantly, Jaune rolled away and sprung to his feet. He pulled Crocea Mors from its scabbard and pulled the trigger. The cruel weapon screamed in his grip, agitated and rearing to tear into whatever Grimm this was.

He blinked and squinted, noting that this room had a single industrial spotlight at one end. It was the sort of independent light that he was used to seeing back in the wasteland, hooked up to its own generator, good for stowing away in places with no electricity. This one hummed and cast a strong beam across the room, which seemed to be an old maintenance store. Abandoned uniforms and cleaning supplies littered the floor, with open lockers lining the wall.

The creature, however, still stuck back in the shadow, and Jaune couldn't yet get a good look at it. Something in the back of his mind didn't like the shape of its silhouette, but a more rational part of himself put down that silly fear.

"Alright asshole," he said, pulling back into a ready stand and brandishing his ripping chainsword before him.

Breathe deep. Hold. Rel—

"Let's not fight."

Jaune's breathing stopped. His eyes widened.

"Let's talk."

A deep voice, gravelly and warbling. Unmistakably inhuman, it had an airy and biting edge to it, as if the speaker had no lips with which to properly form each syllable. And at its core the voice reminded one of an animalistic growl.

And it was all coming directly from the monster in the dark.

Jaune still couldn't breathe. His jaw had dropped, and now he only stared, mouth agape at the monster. His grip on Crocea Mors lightened, so that his fingers no longer pressed down on the chainsword's trigger. It stopped its incessant screaming, allowing quiet to seep into the room.

"Good," said the monster. "Let's talk."

"What…" Jaune shook his head, barely able to muster that single word. A thousand thoughts tore through his mind, all wondering how this could be possible. Some kind of bizarre semblance or—

The creature stepped out of the darkness, into the single beam of light in the room.

Jaune gasped. A terrible feeling came to his chest, as if his entire rib-cage was being crushed, pulled into a black hole that had formed in the middle of his abdomen. A sickening sensation arose where his heart was supposed to be, of something heavy and foreign—something that shouldn't be. His hands shook, and he dropped Crocea Mors. The sword clattered to the stone floor, then lay motionless at his feet.

Two horns. Sharp claws half a foot long. Bare jaws with wicked fangs. Beady yellow eyes. A tough, brown hide like tanned leather. A long, tough tail. Stark muscles lining a lean frame, as tall and wide as a supermutant. Now it was impossible for him to deny how he'd recognized that earlier roar in the night.

Jaune looked at the deathclaw, and the deathclaw looked back.

"My name is Orion," it said.

Its powerful, deadly jaw flexed those vicious teeth, and Jaune saw its forked tongue slither inside its mouth. That same kind of dreaded maw he had seen crush a man's skull, or rip off a man limb. Now it was being used to speak like a human. It made him shudder. Before him was something supremely impossible. Not only was there a deathclaw on Remnant, but it was capable of speaking. This was inconceivable to him, and the sheer shock paralyzed his mind, in turn rendering his body frozen. It wasn't attacking him, so his confused brain was free to be as confused and paralyzed as it needed, spiraling in the unknown and the inconceivable. His utter bewilderment would only increase with what the deathclaw said next:

"You are the Lone Wanderer."


	32. Chapter 32

Roman Torchwick sighed and smiled. He leaned back in his leather office chair, propped his feet up on the desk and looked out through the shattered office window, over dusty old train station. It was dark, with most of the light coming from just a few strobe-lights set up for him and the few other humans hanging around. Dim outlines of train cars, crates and old work buildings filled the environment, with vague figures moving about between them.

At his desk once sat the manager for the place, but now that was all long gone. Now it was just him, overseeing those terrorists packing dust up into the train. And those animals had really gotten a hang of their jobs. Not that it was hard to pick up and move boxes...

These were the last couple days of their plan, and soon he'd would be able to sleep again. He'd been up all night helping them make the bombs and carefully setting them on the train, as the red in his eyes and the bags under them attested. If only for a few moments now, he could close his eyes…

Something poked the side of his head.

"Ugh." Roman groaned and glanced to the side.

Neo had crept up beside him in the derelict office. She smiled and tried to poke him again with the tip of her umbrella.

Roman batted it away and sighed. "What, are you really _that_ bored? Just going to come up here and mess with me now."

She grinned and nodded excitedly.

Roman scowled. "Why not go screw with somebody else? Go stab one of those grunts or something."

Neo pouted and signed.

"You want talk to me? Sheesh, what kind of puppy are you? Following your master all around?"

Neo scowled, but her face only made Roman laugh.

"Awwww, look at the little puppy all riled up." He reached a hand out to pat her head but Neo stepped back before he could, frowning acutely.

"Oh fine," Roman said. "What's on your mind?"

Neo's grin widened, then she started signing.

"The Commander tried to talk to you?"

She nodded.

"Yeah, he's kind of creepy, right?"

She nodded again, then signed. Roman carefully observed her for some time, taking in each formed word.

When she stopped, he responded: "Sounds like he was trying to pry up some more info about us and Cinder. Well even if we told him everything we know, I doubt he'd get anything new."

Neo nodded signed again, then smiled.

Roman smiled as well.

"Well then show me, come on."

Neo took out her scroll and pulled up a picture for him to see.

Roman squinted and viewed it. "Huh, a lot younger than I thought he would be. A lot younger. Wonder if that's why the Commander doesn't want anyone seeing his face…"

But of course, it was hardly difficult for someone like Neo to simply follow him, invisible, and snap a picture when he eventually took off that creepy mask. The Commander and Cinder wanted to keep his identity secret, but Roman Torchwick doesn't like being left in the dark.

"Well I don't recognize him, but we can pass that on to Junior and try to learn more."

Neo nodded and stashed the scroll back in her pocket.

"But other than that, what else did the guy say?"

Neo signed.

Roman scowled. "He called you pretty, huh? Well the Commander's a creep, hope you didn't take any of that seriously."

Neo frowned and signed.

"Yeah it would be stupid. Good girl. Don't fall for anything the guy says, as nice as it might be." Roman shook his head. "Sorry if I'm coming off over-protective, but they're bad news. Haven't felt like this since the one time we tried to work with Vacuo Mob." Roman scowled. "But these guys are worse, if only for the fact that they're not just psychos, but psychos with skill."

Neo nodded and signed.

"Right, as long as you stay careful. And make sure to keep looking over your shoulder after I get locked up."

Neo frowned.

"Yeah, I don't like this plan any more than you do, but hey, you'll be my knight in shining armor soon enough, right?"

She beamed.

Roman, despite being sleep-deprived and rather displeased by the upcoming reality, felt happy.

"Don't worry Neo, we'll get through this no problem—"

A knock sounded from the door, before it opened.

"Torchwick," said the man, voice heavily altered by the gas mask he wore. "The Commander would like to speak with you. He's waiting."

* * *

 _You are the Lone Wanderer_

Jaune had not heard that name in a long time. Not since he'd come to Remnant, had that terrible, vicious, miserable person's name been spoken aloud.

And here he was, being condemned to that identity by a deathclaw, of all things.

"How…" His voice, a shaky whisper, was pathetically quiet in that dark-lit room. His eyes were open wide, staring unblinkingly at the impossibility before him. The very existence of this beast should not have been allowed, let alone it's ability to speak, or the knowledge it had.

But deep down, Jaune knew exactly how it had gotten here and how it knew who he was.

A second more passed before his wasteland instincts kicked in. Before him was the apex predator of Earth, and here he was standing and gawking like an idiot.

He snapped out of his surprise and instantly crouched down, picked up Crocea Mors and hopped back. He brandished the ripper-sword, hand on the trigger, and yelled, "how the fuck are you here and how do you know me!?" .

"The lightning machine brought me here," the deathclaw said. Even though Jaune had readied for battle and was now yelling, Orion nevertheless spoke calmly and made no move in response. "The one in the Enclave's laboratory, where I was kept. I assume it is what brought you here as well."

"I…"

The lightning machine. That was an apt way of describing the haywire alien device which had sent him here.

"Of course it did…" He muttered. His chest still felt tight and his throat felt clogged. His face had heated up and he felt his palms were intolerably sweaty. His breathing came in short, rapid intakes and exhales. He shook his head. "I…"

"We are friends," Orion said. "You and I."

Jaune shook his head again and scowled. "That so?" His voice was pathetic, more like a raw, shaky croak than the combative, aggressive demeanor he could normally portray.

"It is," Orion said again, quite matter-of-factly. "Because the enemy of my enemy is my friend." The deathclaw spoke calmly, so the deep voice and growl sounded civilized.

Jaune squinted in confusion. "What the hell…"

"You fought Beauvais," Orion said. "I saw it."

"You… you did?" Jaune's fingers lifted off of Crocea Mors's trigger—slightly.

Orion nodded. "They kept me in that lab, in a steel container. Thick walls too much for me to get through." Orion looked down at his hands, covered in long, tapered claws. "They kept me there alone, in that container. Only a little grill let me look out and see and hear. One day I was sleeping, but awoke to the sound of explosions, shouting and shooting. I looked out. I saw the fight. I saw Bishop and someone in power armor fighting."

Orion pointed one wickedly sharp claw at Jaune.

"It was you, in the armor. You took off your helmet and proclaimed yourself the Lone Wanderer and your intent to kill him.

"I watched you fight, and I wished desperately that you would win, so I could see him die." Orion sighed, shoulders sagging with the rush of air. "But such was not meant to be… the lightning was shooting everywhere. And then a bolt came for me…"

"An alien teleporter…" Jaune said. "That's what it was."

"Alien?" Orion tilted his head, quizzical.

"Yeah, like from outer space."

"Hm." Orion hummed, a sound which was more akin to a rumbling growl. "I did not know aliens roamed the wastes."

"A few here and there," Jaune replied. "I ran into them."

"Hm."

Again with that thoughtful growl. It put Jaune on edge, made him adjust his stance and hunch his shoulders. Nearly everything in his system told him to run, or to fight, or to do something other than just stand there and have a conversation. But anyone who wants Bishop dead…

"I only ever saw aliens in the comics," Orion said.

Jaune's head perked up. "Comics?"

"Comics," Orion affirmed with a nod. "The Enclave made us smart, edited our genes. Then they taught us. As we grew, they gave us comics and picture books to help us learn to read and speak. I would always like the comic books, even as I got older."

"Huh." Jaune blinked. He readjusted his grip on Crocea Mors, to one not quite as tight. "I always liked comics, too."

"I liked Grognak," Orion said.

Despite the situation, Jaune let out a slight chuckle, and a little smile. "I did, too."

Orion nodded once more. "The Enclave gave us books to read and movies to watch to help us learn. So we'd be smart. So we'd be able to fight best for them." Orion shook his head. "But they were fools. You cannot raise something to think like a person and then expect it to serve like a pet."

Jaune lowered the tip of Crocea Mors, a position less ready for action.

"So the Enclave made you, raised you… but you didn't want to work with them?"

"Yes," Orion said. "They wanted smart deathclaws to help them kill. At first, our kind did that. My parents told me that they would work with the Enclave because they were grateful, because the Enclave made them.

"But it became obvious soon that the humans would never treat them like equals. They gave us scraps for food, demanded we work hard, kept chains on us.

"So we tried to escape, when I was still a pup."

Jaune looked at the huge deathclaw before him, then tried to imagine it as a 'pup'. A cute little deathclaw? Those existed? And one with loving, thoughtful parents? The only deathclaws he'd ever known were the vicious ones, the indomitable predators. He'd run into a few juveniles, sure, but even those had hissed at him—before he blew their brains out.

"I guess your escape didn't go so well," he said.

Orion shook his head. "Many of us were killed. They shot at us from their vertibirds. My father died. My mother and I were brought back."

Orion shifted. The movement made Jaune grip his sword more tightly for a moment, before he saw that the deathclaw was only turning to show Jaune a narrow scar along his side, running across his ribcage.

"This was done to me by one of the soldiers hunting us, when I was captured."

The scar was thin and long, and it looked like a burn.

"Can you guess who did this to me?"

A swell of anger came to him, and Jaune sneered.

"Bishop."

"Yes," Orion confirmed. "He had that flaming sword. And he pressed it to my side while I was chained up. And he laughed."

Orion's lips peeled back, a hateful bearing of teeth. That didn't frighten Jaune; in fact, Jaune approved of it.

"That is why we are friends," Orion said. "You are an enemy to Bishop Beauvais, and so am I."

Jaune stared at Orion. No more words passed by them for a few moments. Then Jaune moved Crocea Mors.

The ripper-sword grated against its metal sheath as he put it away.

"Bishop took everything from me," Jaune said after sheathing his sword. "He killed my father, and he killed my team, and he almost killed me." Jaune crossed his arms, then nodded. He felt the tightness in his chest fade, replaced now only with a busy anger and newfound sense of camaraderie.

"An enemy of Bishop is a friend of mine."

Besides, if Orion had really desired to kill him, then Jaune would certainly be dead. He could have ripped his head off the moment they got out far enough from his team.

"Good, good," Orion said, nodding. "I am glad for that, very. The first person I meet from Earth, and it is an ally."

"I'm the first?" Jaune asked. "Well what a coincidence, you're the first for me, too."

"Hm." Orion growled calmly, a little habit that Jaune had already recognized, and the sound started to bother him less.

"My name's Jaune, by the way. Jaune Arc. I left the Lone Wanderer back on Earth."

"Hm. Good to know that, Jaune."

"And you? How'd you get named Orion?"

"One of the books the Enclave gave us was on constellations. My mother liked thinking about the stars, even though we couldn't see them through the smog, even though we were often in cages. She named me after a constellation." Orion sighed again, a tired sound. "She was a good mom."

"Oh." Jaune glanced to the side. "I never knew mine. She died when I was born."

"Hm. I'm glad for the time I had with mine."

Jaune didn't ask for him to elaborate. He could guess her fate, and he didn't want to hurt Orion by making him explain it. So he decided to move on to the resolution.

"Well I did kill him," Jaune said, smiling sadly. "So after everything he took from us, at least we can know he got what was coming to him."

Orion's eyes widened and he shuffled on his feet, clearly excited. He brought his hands together and clicked his claws against each other. "You did? You did it? How? Was it painful for him?"

"Sadly, it wasn't. It was very quick. I threw a mini-nuke at him and he got vaporized, blown into little smithereens, nothing left."

Then he nodded, absolutely certain.

"He's dead. The nuke went off on time and he's dead," he said, each word tough and resolute. "That bastard will never bother me again. Or you."

"That is good, very good, very good, thank you." Orion bowed his head, leaning so far down that the tips of his horns touched the ground. "You did a great thing. Thank you." He rose his head, then hesitated, then brought it down for a second full bow. "Thank you."

"It was all my pleasure," Jaune replied. "Getting rid of scum like him is my life's purpose."

"Well—"

They heard a creak as a door at the other end of the room opened.

"Orion?"

It was a man's voice who asked, and when Jaune turned he saw in the dim shadow a thin, humanoid figure.

"All is well, Victor," Orion said. "Jaune and I are talking. You may wait outside for now… this is a private conversation."

"Uh, alright then. I'll be here if you need me."

The figure then stepped back further into the dark and pulled the door shut behind him. It grated on rusted hinges before sealing shut.

Jaune looked back to Orion, one eyebrow raised.

"That was Victor," the deathclaw replied. "He's a friend."

"Huh." A deathclaw with human friends. "I've made a few friends too… they were the ones you kidnapped me from."

"Sorry. But I needed to have a private conversation. Obviously, I couldn't approach you all at once. You would have opened fire before I could talk."

"Yeah, yeah we would have."

Orion tilted his head. "Do they know? About Earth, that is."

"No." Jaune sighed and averted his gaze. Looking around, he saw an overturned cabinet a few feet away. He walked by and sat down on it. Now a bit more comfortable, he continued: "I've been lying to them, told them I'm from Vacuo."

"What a coincidence," Orion said. "For I have done the same."

"Vacuo's close enough to the wasteland, anyway," Jaune said, chuckling dryly. "Only ever heard the place described as a chaotic shithole."

"Yes," Orion said. "I told them I was from a faraway wasteland, and they supposed that I am from Vacuo. I've upkept the lie ever since. I haven't talked much of my past. They have rumors about where I'm from, but I never tell." Orion snorted, then shrugged. "It's not something I can tell them, is it?"

"Yeah, I've done the same," Jaune said. "But it's hard, isn't it? These people you're close to… having to lie to them. I don't like it."

"Hm. It is hard. I don't like it either." Orion shook his head. "But they wouldn't well be able to understand a creature from a different world, formed from radiation and genetic manipulation, then getting transported here…" Orion refocused his beady, black eyes back Jaune. "You've taken my existence rather well, actually. I thought you would have a harder time accepting an intelligent deathclaw."

Jaune only shrugged. "I teamed up with a smart super-mutant once. And I know that deathclaws are already damn smart. Pfft, I've seen so much shit back in the wasteland… radiation and FEV made everything a weird mess." After a second more, he chuckled. "Then again, Remnant's got a ton of crazy stuff, too. I mean come on, semblances and auras? Stuff is nuts."

"It is indeed," Orion replied. "I never thought a universe like would exist beyond fantasy. I never thought I'd be able to partake in it."

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Jaune was smiling now. "All of the life is beautiful. The forests, trees, flowers and… happy people. Lot of weird crap, but it's mostly better."

"It _is_ beautiful," Orion said. "I've built a better life for myself here than I ever could have had back on Earth." He growled thoughtfully again. "But what was your life back on Earth? I've told you of myself."

"Yeah, yeah you have. Only fair I do the same."

So Jaune spent the next few minutes telling Orion the tale of the Lone Wanderer. He grew up in a vault, then departed to find his father. He made friends along the way and hardened his fighting skills. When he finally found his dad again, the man was murdered by Bishop Beauvais. But he finished his father's work and brought water to the wasteland, then worked in a grand coalition to destroy the Enclave.

Orion growled happily at that.

Then he explained how he'd been without direction for a while, and he'd taken the moniker 'Lone Wanderer'. That is, until he was recruited once more to hunt down Bishop. He managed to kill the bastard, but the alien machine transported him to Remnant. When he arrived, he took the name Jaune Arc, and he's since reinvented himself. Friends, therapy, medication. It's taken a lot of work, but it finally feels like I'm living the life I've always wanted.

"Hm. And I feel the same," Orion said. "I've worked hard to build up what I have here. But you've only been here for six months?"

Jaune nodded, thinking nothing of the detail. "Yeah, around that."

"I've been here eighteen years," said Orion.

Jaune's jaw dropped; his eyes widened.

He shook his head. "Eighteen? How the hell?"

"I suppose that the alien machine didn't just send us to different places in this world," Orion said, "but to different times as well."

"Eighteen?" Jaunes stressed the world, amazed that Orion had been alive on Remnant for longer than he'd been alive in general. "What have you been doing this whole time?"

"Hm." Orion growled and furrowed his brow, the first time Jaune had ever seen a deathclaw appear pensive. "Well… I started wandering these forests. I was very happy, to be free and in a place that only existed in fiction back on Earth."

"Huh, I felt the exact same way."

Orion nodded. "But then as I spent more time here, I became increasingly unhappy. I enjoyed hunting animals, and the strange creatures I would later know as 'Grimm' gave good fights. I was in the heyday of my youth, barely into the teen years. I loved it all… until the loneliness set in."

Jaune swallowed uncomfortably.

"I had been crushingly alone in the Enclave's possession. I had become the last of my kind, and long days in that cage left the rot of solitude inside of me. Shortly, as wonderful as the forest and freedom was, it was not enough."

Jaune squeezed his hands together.

"I would go to sleep at night without having said a word all day, all week, all month, when I would have spent all day talking with friends and family years ago. I would pass time aimlessly, hunting and surviving… but surviving for what? No purpose."

Jaune grit his teeth.

"Alone, I wandered. This beginning period must have been months, before I found a city. This city, Mountain Glenn.

"But when I came here, I looked afar at a city which was vibrant, bustling with life. I saw the bullheads rising in the air, saw people going in an out of the main gate. I looked in awe at this human place, awe and curiosity."

Orion stopped speaking for a moment, gathering his thoughts. In that time, Jaune let out a shaky sigh, suddenly feeling a particular kind of tiredness under his skin.

"So I tried to see it. I staked out the city, and one night I came close. I tore through a sewer grate and snuck in under the ground. It took me a while to get my bearings, but soon I found spots from which I could look up at the surface through storm drains.

"And… I became envious."

Orion growled thoughtfully and blinked a few times, looking beyond Jaune, into the past.

"I remember how jealous I became, so quickly. I saw families and couples and people walking together. I saw people laughing, having fun… being together. I wondered where it was, what place in the wasteland could possibly have this, and I wondered if somewhere out there would be a place like this for me, for deathclaws."

Orion sighed.

"But I thought back on the impossibility of it. I knew that I was the last of my kind. I'd seen other deathclaws captured by the Enclave, ones not modified to be smart like me. They were animals, and they scared me when they growled and glared.

"So I looked at the humans enjoying themselves, and I seethed."

Orion sighed again and sat back on his haunches. Jaune knew the position, having seen deathclaws relax that way, when they sensed no prey or enemy. It was bizarre to sit across from one now like this, so casually.

But he listened intently, captured by the story of a fellow survivor of that terrible place, Earth. A story that resonated with him deeply.

"I fell asleep that night in the sewers," Orion eventually continued. "But I awoke to the sound of chaos. Screaming, roaring, crashing… I got up and looked through a drain and saw.

"Grimm were everywhere. I saw a beowolf rip someone in half, saw canis tear someone to pieces. Gunfire, screaming, violence… I watched it through the sewer grate, wide-eyed. I'd never comprehended such carnage. The very ground itself shuddered.

"Then I saw a mother and a child running down the street, chased by an ursa…"

Orion closed his eyes. For a moment. Jaune barely dared to breathe, for fear that the slightest noise might taint the solemn silence such a story deserved.

"I remembered then," Orion continued, "how I'd spent long nights alone in my cage, wishing that some hero had come out and saved me and my mother, when we were hunted by the Enclave. I remembered that, and I realized that I could do that for someone else.

"I exploded up through the street, roared and charged. The mother and her son were horrified—but I leapt straight over them, onto the ursa. A quick swipe of my claws, and I tore its throat open. Then I picked up those two and ran back into the sewer.

"I ran far through the tunnels, and they were kicking and screaming. The looks on their faces when I dropped them off in the room where I'd been sleeping, and when I told them to stay still… pure terror, confusion. But I made them promise me to stay, for they'd be safe there.

"Then I went back out into the city, and I… well, I 'abducted' more people, saving them from rampaging Grimm." Orion turned and brandished a gnarled scar on his leg. "I was not left unharmed… an alpha beowolf was faster than I predicted. But I persevered, and...

"Well, perhaps it's best for you to see firsthand what I managed to accomplish," Orion finished. "Just know, that that night I set the foundation for forming the family I've lived with ever since, the family that I've devoted myself to protecting. Have you made a new family here, Jaune?"

He didn't hesitate to answer: "Yes."

"And do you want to protect them; would you do anything to keep them safe?"

"Of course."

"Hm." Orion dipped his head, thinking. Then he nodded. "Well there is another reason I wanted to talk to you, other than to reminisce. I like speaking with you, and I like finally having someone to talk to about Earth… but I also wish to negotiate with you."

Jaune tilted his head, somewhat interested, somewhat suspicious. "What do you have in mind?"

"Mountain Glenn has always had search parties and scavengers, some criminals come here. But recently, a group of faunus wearing Grimm masks have made a base here, and I do not like it. They are a threat, and I want them gone."

Jaune smiled a wicked smile. "Well then it looks like we have something else in common. Those faunus are a group called the White Fang, terrorists who want to try and use violence to promote faunus rights—or faunus supremacy." Jaune leaned forward. "My team and I came here to find them, and if we could, to destroy them."

"Hm. Then fate really does mean for us to be allies." Orion leaned forward. "They shot one of my friends, inured her. She's still recovering. I want to kill them all."

"Well I think I can help with that," Jaune said, eyes narrowing.

The two hunters, at that moment, reached a deeper understanding of one another.

"I came out here to kill White Fang," Jaune said. "Those assholes put a lot of people in danger, including my own friends. I know the idiots I call family will always chase after them, being heroes. So I need to help kill them, too. That's all a part of keeping them safe." He nodded in solidarity to Orion. "So I can respect what you want. How big is this base, can you take me to it?"

"Yes," Orion said. "But first, I want you to see something else, to understand better what is at stake, and…" Orion shifted on his feet, almost nervously. "I'd like to show something off… although it's also important for you to know the resources we can employ."

"Alright, not a problem," Jaune said. "But we should take them out soon—we don't know what they're doing or what their schedule is like."

"They've taken up at the old train station," Orion said. "They've been working there for weeks, some major project. I don't like it. They have lots of cargo, so we think they may be planning on shipping out material into Vale."

"Into Vale?"

"The rail-line they've been preparing leads back to Vale," Orion said. "They've been preparing a link between here and the city."

"Fuck." Jaune snarled. "I don't know what they're doing but that can't be good."

"No, not at all." Orion snarled. "From what you say, I like them even less now. People who cause innocents pain should die."

"They should."

"Hm. Well, we can talk more, reminisce of Earth later," Orion said. "For now, go out and follow Victor. He will take you to the right place." He pointed at the back of the room, to the door where the human had interrupted them. "That is the quickest route to what I want to show… but it's too small for me." Orion rolled his shoulders and stood up straighter, emphasizing that he was both far too wide to and far too tall for human passages. "So follow Victor. He's a trusted companion." Orion paused for a moment, before adding, "And he's also the child I saved all those years ago, the one running with his mother."

"Really?" Even though he'd only seen him for a moment, Jaune could tell Victor was an adult. It only served to reinforce the fact that Orion had been here for eighteen years… eighteen.

What else had come here from Earth, and for how long? Who else?

Thinking about that made a weight form in his stomach, an uncomfortable, tight stone that felt sharp and dull at the same time. He pushed it out of his mind.

Orion turned away and slunk back to the large tunnel he'd dragged in Jaune from. "We'll show you around, then show you where these 'White Fang' are. Then, we can find your friends and prepare our strike."

"Sounds good to me."

"Hm. But we'll need to explain how we know each other," Orion said. "If you're only seventeen, and I've been with these people for eighteen years, then it doesn't make sense to say that we know each other."

"Damn, you're right." Jaune scowled. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, thinking for a moment. "Maybe we could say you knew my family?"

"Hm. Or the one who trained you?" Orion asked. "I told Victor that I recognized you when I saw you… we can say that I knew you as a baby, and that the scar is actually a birthmark. Yes, that's how I knew you."

"Okay, that can work out," Jaune said, nodding along with the lie.

These two were quite proficient by now on making up lies about who they used to be.

"My dad was a huntsman back in Vacuo who you worked with, and you recognized me by my scar while I was fighting, then asked me for help after we caught up."

"Hm. That sounds feasible."

"Yeah, it does. Sounds like we're about ready to rock and roll."

"Hm, I think we are. I'll see you soon Jaune, just follow Victor for now."

Without another word, Orion nodded and turned away, heading once more into the darkness of Mountain Glenn's old sewers. That left Jaune alone, sitting there in an abandoned maintenance room.

He suddenly realized a strong sense of nostalgia. All the time spent wallowing in the sewers, basements and subways under DC come back to him; here he was, creeping around under a ruined city with deathclaws and killers abound.

Nostalgia… along with a fresh wave of utter bewilderment. Now that Orion was out of sight, he suddenly found himself questioning whether or not any of that had really just happened.

Jesus, I never thought I'd have a conversation with a deathclaw… never thought I'd relate to one so much. That conversation wound up going easier than most of the ones I've had with actual people here on Remnant… then again, I haven't been able to connect like that with anyone on this whole planet.

But there's no more time to waste. I need to go kill some people.

As he stood, he realized his hands were jittery, and competing questions and thoughts still fought to boil up inside him now that he was alone.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

Some controlled breathing calmed his nerves a bit, then he reached in his bag pocket and pulled out the bottle of anxiety pills he'd been prescribed. He popped one in his mouth, swallowed and closed his eyes. He kept breathing, and he was able to reach a bare facsimile of peace as his hands stopped shaking and his mind stilled.

Even thought the whole world seemed crazy, he could at least have control over himself.

* * *

"So…"

"Yes?"

The flashlight cut through the darkness ahead of them, revealing a narrow corridor with busted pipes that all dripped foul-smelling water. Their feet made both squelching and crackling sounds as they treaded over moist moss, mold, crushed glass, rusted fragments of pipe and chips of cement, all detritus of the decaying passage.

All in all, it was very familiar to Jaune. Things got more nostalgic by the moment.

Victor led him, expertly twisting through what seemed to be a maze, passing by old doors and endless diverging paths. With a set of keys, he brought them both through several doors, then swiftly locked behind them.

Jaune kept one hand on Crocea Mors, keenly focused and alert.

He wasn't worried about Orion or Victor, however. That would be absurd, considering Orion could have easily killed him, and betrayal made no sense after their conversation. No, he peered into the darkness, wary of Grimm and White Fang. More than look, however, he listened. Every drip and crack in the distance could be an enemy. He listened.

"Well," Victor said, "you come from Vacuo like Orion?"

The fact that Victor was trying to make conversation didn't make it any easier.

"Yes."

"Yeah, he told us that he recognized you from a fight he had back there."

"He did."

"Well, did you guys know each other?"

"No."

Jaune clenched his jaw. His replies were frustrated and curt as he focused more on listening for threats.

"You don't have to be so on edge," Victor said with a nervous chuckle. "Orion keeps these parts of the underground nice and clear for us. Don't have to worry about Grimm or anybody else. Most of these other ways are dead ends anyway."

"Right."

Deathclaws do certainly do a good job of keeping their territory _theirs._

Victor's reassurance did have an effect on him. It probably would be fine to talk like this in Orion's territory. "We didn't know each other back then, but he saw me fight. Now we're fighting together, because we both want to kill off those faunus."

"Ah yeah," Victor said. "But we don't have a problem with them just 'cus they're faunus or anything… they're just armed and near us, and dangerous."

"Same."

"Yeah…" Victor trailed off, and he didn't try to continue. He only led Jaune further through the underground for another few minutes, before simply saying: "We're here." He stopped beside a large, sealed door. He placed one hand on the door's latch and started pushing. The old rusted metal grated as the heavy latch stubbornly resisted.

"Let me help," Jaune said. He stepped in and gripped the latch, then wrenched it back easily. "Aura's strong stuff," he said when Victor looked at him.

Victor laughed. "Yeah I know, we have a few hunters around."

"Yeah?"

"Just look at this," Victor said, then pushed the door through.

"Ah crap!"

The first thing Jaune saw on the other side of the doorway were two people close to his own age. His grip on Crocea Mors tightened as he examined them. One was a faunus, as he could tell from the ears on top her head and the bushy tail that peeked from behind her. White Fang? However, the other one was a young man seemingly without animal features. And neither of them wore those Grimm masks. Neither were armed, either.

They stood in a hallway, which led down a bit further before turning, the end out of sight to him. Dim lights illuminated this place, a fresh departure from the pitch black tunnels they'd been navigating prior.

Another second and Jaune noticed that they were holding hands.

"What are you…?" Victor seemed confused for a second, before immediately scowling, dark eyes bearing into them. "You horny little—"

"No!" The guy shook his head, bringing up his hands before him as if that could somehow protect him from Victor's ire. "I swear, it's not like that again!"

"Yeah, we were just…" The girl's ears dog ears flattened against her head and she failed to come up with an appropriate excuse.

"What?" Victor put his hands on his hips. He didn't exactly make the most imposing figure, being on the shorter and scrawnier side of the spectrum, and he was only a few years older, perhaps early twenties. But some sense of command cowed the couple nonetheless. "Orion and the council gave specific instructions that no one gets to leave until its safe! Or do you want to get hurt like Vanessa was?"

The two hung their heads, silent and in shame.

Victor sighed, exasperated, then turned to Jaune. "Ever since those faunus showed up, the council and Orion determined it was safest if no one went out. But these two idiots have kept sneaking out to get frisky. Just a few days ago, Orion caught them and dragged them back." His frown deepened and he turned back to the two. "Seriously, we have rules for a reason!"

"Uh…"

"We weren't going to go out," the girl feebly said. "We were just gonna hang out back here for a while, honest!" Her eyes were thoroughly focused on the floor, before she managed to gain the courage to look up and try to address Victor face-to-face. "Please…"

Her voice trailed off as she finally noticed Jaune. In a moment, her eyes widened, her ears perked up and her tail stiffened.

"You!" She stepped back and pointed at Jaune. "You!" She pointed, hands shaking nervously. "Who are you." Her eyes looked to Victor. "Who is he?"

Victor shook his head. "We're not used to getting new people around here," he told Jaune. As he spoke again, he turned behind him to close of the door. "This is Jaune," he said over his shoulder. "He's from the Vacuo wastes like Orion, and Orion was actually friends of his family."

"What?" Her eyes widened even more. Now there was shock, but also something else.

"Wait, you're from the same place as Orion?" said her boyfriend.

"No way," the girl said. She now looked at him curiously, almost wondrously, as if she'd caught sight of some animal she'd only ever seen in picture books, heard in bedtimes stories.

Then she smiled.

"Oh my goodness that's awesome!" She squealed and excitedly hopped in place. "Oh my gosh tell me all about it! What was the wasteland like? Is it really that terrible? How'd you get that scar? Is that a sword? Are you a huntsman? What was the wasteland like?" Her words came out in a neurotic deluge that reminded Jaune of Nora.

And the stranger's quick talk—questions about himself and his past, no less—had him on edge. He shuffled back, wordlessly.

"Hey, hey," Victor said, interposing himself between Jaune and the girl after seeing the scowl on his face. "Give Jaune some space."

"That your name?" The boy asked. "Jaune?"

"I'm Cass!" the girl said.

"And I'm Kahn," said her companion.

"How ya doin Jaune? What's the wasteland like?"

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

Jaune forced back some of his initial reluctance, then propped up a half-hearted smile on his face.

"Good to meet you," he said.

"What was your homeland like? How do you know Orion?"

"Uh, the wasteland was horrible and Orion knew my family," he said, straddling truth and lies.

"Oh that's so cool!"

"Alright, alright," Victor interjected, "Jaune will have plenty of time to chat later, but for now he needs to meet with the council."

"Ah cool, for what?" Kahn asked.

"He's going to help us take care of the attackers in the old train station," Victor said.

Cass's smiled dropped immediately; both she and Kahn immediately sobered from the revelation. Their excitement and curiosity dashed, each stepped back.

"Well damn," Kahn said quietly. "Thanks for that."

"Everybody's really scared about it," Cass said. "Thank you."

"Yeah, so we better all get going," Victor said, cutting through the freshly solemn mood. "And you two need to get back home. Things aren't going to be very safe tonight."

Now they both mumbled in agreement, then backed away, further down the hall and around a corner, out of view.

"We don't get a lot of new people here," Victor said again. "Like, almost never."

"I could tell."

"And everyone's really on edge about those faunus who've taken up in the train station. Everyone's paranoid they might find us."

"Everyone," Jaune repeated. "You use that word. How many people is 'everyone'?"

"I'll show you."

Victor walked down the hall, and Jaune followed. Up ahead, he saw more light shine in from around the corner, where stronger light-sources lay.

"Welcome to Mountain Glenn," Victor said, stepping aside and sweeping out his hand.

* * *

"Thank you," the Commander said. "It is frustrating that Cinder has limited information about her plans, but secrecy is understandable. I hope that they don't treat you too poorly in prison."

"Meh," Roman just shrugged. "I've taken beatings by cops before, no big deal."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Neo fidget in her seat beside him. They sat across a table from the Commander and his head lackey, whom Roman had only ever called 'Art'. Just being stuck in a little, dark room with these guys made him feel uneasy, and for the first time since he'd started working with them, the presence of the White Fang actually gave him a small measure of comfort. The big guy with the chainsaw leaned silently against the wall, having listened while Roman filled them in last-minute about his intention to be caught.

That was a particular detail that always made Neo frown. She hadn't spoken to him (rather, signed to him) for days after he'd agreed to that plan. Sure, Cinder had forced it on him, but Neo knew better than to take out her frustration on the crazy boss lady, and she needed to take it out on somebody. Not that she could stay mad at him for long; she never could.

"Well," the Commander said, deep and muffled through the tight gas mask, "unless you have something else to say, I would like to get back checking on those bombs."

Heh, control freak. Roman knew the type, the kind who liked to micromanage, who didn't like to leave important stuff to others. He didn't know how much the Commander really knew about bombs, but whatever, if he blew himself up, Roman would actually mark that down as a win.

"Yeah, that was about it," Roman said with a nod. "You can skidaddle on out of here."

"Very well. You can find me on the train if you'd like to talk further. I'll make sure it's all ready for tomorrow."

"Sure thing," Roman replied. He let the Commander and Art leave without another word, then sighed and shook his head once the door shut behind them.

"Those men irritate me," the White Fang lieutenant said. Roman had never bothered to learn his name, and the guy had never bothered to tell him. "They hover over us, order us, then look past us like we're nothing."

"They think you're an animal and I'm street trash," Roman replied. Sure, he casually used the slur _animal_ with some of these faunus, but so what? He didn't actually hate them so much, just didn't care for them. Art though? Some of the stuff he'd said…

"What do you know about them?" the lieutenant asked.

That only made the thief chuckle. "Fishing for info, eh?"

He received no reply.

"Ah well," Roman continued, "you're asking the wrong guy. All of the boss-lady's 'allies' are kept apart from each other, which she obviously does on purpose." Roman shrugged and pulled out a cigar. "I hardly know anything about the guy… but if you'd be willing to do some brainstorming, I'm open."

As Roman pulled out a cigar slicer from his pocket and cut one end of the cigar, he still received no reply from the lieutenant.

Neo crossed her arms and waited, quiet and patient.

In the silence, the sound of Roman lighting a match was the only thing to be heard.

But then, just as he brought the cigar to his lips, the lieutenant sat down across from him.

"I think it's in both of our best interests to share information on that man and his doings," said the lieutenant.

Roman pulled in a smoke, then blew out a dense cloud, smiling as he did. "I could not agree more, my friend.

"What a funny coalition this is, everybody trusting everybody else not so far as they can throw them, nobody's knowing anything about each other." Roman just shrugged.

"Hmph, that woman promises us all our own goals," the lieutenant said. "We get a chance to strike at Atlas and the humans, you get your money and Cinder herself gets to reach whatever revenge it is she seeks." The man leaned over. "But I don't know what the Commander and the Black Masks want."

"Is that what they're called?" Roman asked.

"One of many names," the lieutenant replied. "They've chosen no name for themselves. Our spies in Atlas and SDC have noted that over the last year, a new group rose to prominence in the field of non-governmental black-ops."

"Yeah? Can't say I'm real close to that stuff, being a thief and all." Roman bit the cigar, though his mind was too distracted appreciate the flavor. "I know a guy who might be able to look into that sort of stuff, but it's dangerous to go poking around in that world."

"Very," the lieutenant said. "I can tell you a bit more, but I'd appreciate some of your own information, as well."

That made Roman chuckle. He breathed in again, blew out another puff of smoke and spoke: "Not a problem, friendo.

"I've worked with that asshat Art more than I've liked, pretty closely actually. That's nice 'cause he's the Commander's right-hand man, and I bet you all haven't worked too closely with any of these types?"

The lieutenant shook his head.

"Figured. These guys are human supremacists."

At that, the lieutenant stiffened. Through his mask, his gaze bore down on Roman. "Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure," he said. "I mean, I've never had the highest opinion of you faunus types—all I ever knew were the dumbass gangsters from a few blocks over when I grew up. But that doesn't mean I really _hate_ you guys, just I'm not all that politically correct."

Roman sighed and shook his head.

"But some of the shit I've heard Art say? Makes me a bit uncomfortable."

"Like what?"

"Like calling you filth, being upset that he has to be anywhere near you, only using a private bathroom on his ship because no faunus have used that. Once he even mentioned that it'd be fun to hunt you down for sport, and I've heard him say a few times that the world would be a better place without ' _those things'._ "

The lieutenant's hands tightened into trembling fists.

"I overheard a call from the Commander he had, too. The guy said that he hated working with ' _the filth'_ too but they had to put up with it. He mentioned that everybody else is complaining, too. That makes me feel like everybody in their organization is a supremacist."

The lieutenant seethed.

"So whatever Cindy's offering them must be pretty nice, 'cause apparently just having to be around you furries makes them want to hurl their lunches."

When he finished, Roman brought his cigar to his lips once more, puffed and blew.

The lieutenant took a few deep breaths, calming down. "I'll inform Adam of this immediately," he said. "That makes me hate collaborating with these humans even more."

Damn, how you can talk through all the hypocrisy beats me.

Roman just shrugged and said, "That also ties into some of my thoughts on where they're from, too."

The Roman stopped talking, even as the lieutenant waited expectantly.

"Oh come on," Roman said with a smile. "This story time can't be one-sided. What else do _you_ know about them?"

"They've already gotten a vicious reputation," the lieutenant said. "Rumor has it they were involved in the massacres across the Edrian Plateu."

"That the place between Mistral and Atlas? Thought it got wiped by Grimm invasion."

The lieutenant shook his head. "Systematic massacres, thought to make way for interests like the SDC and Mistral Mining Co., or maybe the smugglers and unlicensed miners, to take over the land for cheap. We know, because one of our cells was posted up there and barely escaped in time.

"Men, women, children, entire villages wiped out one after another. Many faunus, but many humans as well. Hundreds killed. Our men saw the Black Masks there."

Roman scowled.

"Rumor has it they were involved in some assassinations and attacks across Remnant, activity increasing over the course of a year. They must have been expanding their operations, but then…"

The lieutenant just shook his head.

"Then what?"

"Then it stopped," he continued. "From what I hear, now they're barely active at all; it seemed a small black ops groups was growing bigger, but they've gone under the radar since then. I don't think I can blame them—a source said that they made Atlas's red list."

Roman's eyes widened. "The red list? How high up?"

"No idea," the lieutenant replied. "But they're probably close to as high as we are. We're not sure precisely what they did to get on that, but…"

"They've got a bullhorn," Roman said. "Hardware like that, I don't think you'd be able to buy. That's something you'd have to take."

"Indeed."

"But why bother going that far? A black ops group could make a lot of cash without going as far as getting on the red list for attacks and thefts like that."

Again, the lieutenant only shrugged. "They must have a plan with that firepower. And there's no telling how long Cinder has worked with them, what requirements she's imposed on them."

"Good point…" Roman shook his head. "They must be after something serious if they're willing to risk the red list. Although… that sort of works with my other theory."

"What theory?"

"My theory about where the Commander's from," Roman said. "From what I can tell, he's been leading these guys since they were founded, just him and Art; that's what Art told me himself." Roman contemplated for a moment, chewing on the slow-burning cigar before speaking again. "They both said that they're from Vacuo. And whenever someone says that, there's a decent chance they're bullshitting."

"Why?"

"Well first, it's pretty hard to get _out_ of Vacuo. If you come to any standing there, then it's probably through the gangs, and you can't leave those. Most people who get out scrape together just enough to get a one-way ticket, but it's hard as hell for poor people from Vacuo to get approval to enter one of the other kingdoms legally, unless they're a hunter.

"There's no military over there, so how the hell did the Commander and Art get all these skills? So are they rogue huntsmen? I don't think so. They strike me way more as being military types than any hunters I've met.

"But most of all, Vacuo is a perfect cover for anybody who wants to start a new life. Just say you're from Vacuo. No birth certificates over there, no records, no id's, no nothing. It's easy to say any past contacts got killed by gangs, warlords or Grimm, so nobody to ask for proof. It's the perfect background story. Honestly, most of the people you'll meet who say they're from Vacuo, aren't actually from Vacuo."

The lieutenant crossed his arms, and Roma gave him a moment to think. During that time, he enjoyed a puff of cigar, before moving on to his final point.

"I heard the Commander's real voice once, too. When I overheard him talking to Art, it was through a scroll. I was just outside the room and the door was cracked open." He shrugged. "The guy has a weird accent. I know people who are actually from Vacuo, and they don't sound like that. His accent is almost like… this kind of soft drawl or something, I can't place it. Sounds sorta like this girl I met who was from the southern Vale backlands, but even that wasn't too similar."

"So it really is a mystery," the lieutenant said.

"Not completely," Roman said. "I think I've got a pretty good theory worked out."

"Which is?

"Where these guys are from, I think they have a history with Atlas. The Commander I think was likely a member of the Atlas Foreign Legion; those guys take people in from anywhere, even ones with shoddy background checks and funny accents." He leaned in. "And if they _are_ human supremacists, then they may have been purged when Ironwood swooped in, got his second council seat a few years back."

"That coward general hardly cares for racism in Atlas," the lieutenant said. "His purge was purely targeting his political enemies."

"Even if that's the case, it was mostly against the more extreme elements in the military," Roman said, quickly hand-waving the lieutenant's complaint. "Hardcore human supremacists got fired, forced to resign or even imprisoned depending on how much they were implicated in that whole mess in the Western Ranges.

"If what you say about the Edrian Plateu is true, then it sounds pretty similar to that shitshow that happened in the Western Ranges a decade ago. Oh boy, when Ironwood dug that up, it was hell to pay.

"And so then you've got a bunch of highly-trained soldiers, all of whom are super racist, all of whom have a bone to pick with the current higher-ups in Atlas, some of whom might even be on the red list already after the purge."

The lieutenant nodded along, finally putting together all the pieces. "In that case, they'd naturally band together, be willing to work against Atlas and faunus and even be more willing to take risks with the red list."

"Exactly."

The two were quiet then, as the lieutenant reflected on the conversation, making sure his conclusion was correct. Roman simply puffed on his cigar.

"Well, I daresay this conversation has been productive," the lieutenant eventually said. "I've told everything I can, have you?"

"Yup, I'm clear out of info. Still don't know what they're after, but this is a start."

"Cinder may be lining us up for a strike against Ironwood and Atlas in the future," the Lieutenant said. "Which both us and these racists would like." He nodded and hummed, the theory making sense.

"Damn, that could be it." Roman bit down on the cigar, hard.

"Well, if that's all, then I'll take my leave," the lieutenant said. "I'll send this information back home. It's good to know that we're dealing with supremacists here."

"I'm just here to help," Roman told the faunus supremacist, grinning as he did.

Without another word, the lieutenant rose and departed, leaving Neo and Roman alone once more.

As the door clicked shut behind, Roman's demeanor immediately changed. The smug smile and lax posture fell apart as he frowned deeply and hunched over. He went from lackadaisical to troubled. Neo eyed him anxiously, thinking over their unfortunate situation herself.

Neo caught Roman's attention with a snap, and when his eyes were on her, she began signing. Her fingers moved, and he tracked them with practiced ease.

When she finished, Roman said, "Yeah, I don't like it either. And… working with a ton of people on the red list will get our names on it eventually, too."

Neo signed more.

"Yes, the red list matters, Neo. It's dangerous, too damn dangerous. That makes us priorities for _execution."_

Neo shrugged.

"Hey, there's a difference between dodging cops and jail, and dodging Atlas Special Forces and the firing squad."

Roman closed his eyes for a moment, then let out a sigh.

"Yeah, human supremacists, faunus supremacists, all the same, all whack jobs." He growled and rammed his cigar into the table. He twisted the smoldering butt against the wood, grinding the ash to dust and putting out the embers. "How did we end up here?"

Neo signed.

"Well yeah, all the crime. But I mean… how _here._ Plenty of people commit plenty of crimes but don't get swooped up by nutjobs with agendas and wanted posters. I mean, I always wanted a wanted poster, but not like these guys…"

Again, Neo only shrugged.

"It's because we did too much, that's it," Roman said with a sigh. He let his head fall into one hand. "You know, back on the streets when we first met, the only thing I wanted was to _be_ somebody.

"Yeah… cast out by my own family, my own neighborhood… I was nobody!" Roman grit his teeth. "But then I met you, and now we're really a pair of somebodies, huh? Stupid. All the attention we got, all the theatrics and here we got. This is where the damn spotlight got me. Got you. Got us."

Neo frowned and signed.

"Well yeah, it's what I wanted, but I didn't think it through enough. I didn't want _this_. I mean, we're about to blow a hole into Vale for god's sake." He pulled the hat off his head and slapped it down on the table beside his discarded cigar. "I mean, at least we're doing it in the prissy up-section of town, but still… I mean none of those people ever crossed us. You know I never feel bad about putting down any types who go wrong by us, but…"

He shook his head.

"But gods, I set out to be 'Vale's Greatest Thief' not 'Vale's Worst Mass Murderer'."

Neo signed again.

"Well yeah it _is_ us or them. I'm not saying I'm about to pull some heroics and back out—Cinder, the Commander and the White Fang will have our heads on stakes. But the only reason that's the case is 'cause I got us in this mess."

Neo scoffed and signed.

"Yeah we always worked as a team, but you have to admit that I led the scores, planned stuff out. _I_ got us here. _I_ agreed to start stealing dust for the lady, and _I_ got us under her boot like an idiot."

Neo's hands did not move.

Roman could only sigh. "We went full-circle, huh? Back on the streets we were just fighting to survive, everything was just about living to see another day: dodge the gangs, dodge the cops, don't get hooked on whatever drug everybody's getting hooked on this week, get enough to eat so you don't go to sleep _too_ hungry." Roman sneered. "Years of working, all to get out of that, to have everything we needed, to be the type of people who don't have to worry about surviving, who get looked up to… but here we are again, the little fish in a whole new pond, still just trying not to die."

Neo scowled. She brought her hands together and cracked the knuckles there. After they were cracked, she continued flex and press on her digits as if she was continuing to try and crack them, fruitless fidgeting.

"And you know, remember what I told you happened to my sister?"

Neo's eyes met his, then she slowly nodded.

"Well the fuckers who killed her left her on the street, throat slashed, just 'cause she smiled and waved at their rivals. She was too young to understand any of their petty gang trash. And I remember seeing her there, bleeding out on the fucking sidewalk…

"And I wonder if what we're about to do is gonna leave some poor sap's sister lying dead on the street. I mean, the shrapnel from the breach, then the Grimm—"

Neo fiercely kicked him, driving the toe of her boot into his shin. When he cried out and looked at her, she signed her reply.

Roman grit his teeth and payed attention to her hands, but he quickly answered, "Yeah I'm not saying we shouldn't go through with this, don't worry I'm not having a change of heart here. Just chewing over something… but you're right. This isn't senseless, stupid killing, this is for us to survive."

And this is the only way I can keep you safe, at least for now.

"These barbarians would do all of this with or without us."

Neo smiled and nodded.

"But… still… it feels like we're getting in over our heads here. After all, the red list?"

Neo's smile dropped.

"It _is_ bad, I assure you." Roman sighed and ran one hand through his hair. A few tense moments of silent passed again, before he said, "You've never gone through a lot of loss, have you Neo?"

Neo chuckled silently, then signed.

"No," Roman said. His serious tone cut down her joke. "I don't mean like how you dropped your toast on the floor this morning. I mean like losing someone you care about."

Neo's hands were motionless.

"Yeah, you never knew your family… but I knew my sister real well, and now I know you, too.

"I don't want to see you lying on a sidewalk in a pool of your own blood, Neo."

Her eyes widened, and her mouth opened a sliver as her jaw dropped in surprise. She stared at him for a few seconds, not knowing how to reply.

Then she scowled. She scowled and sneered and signed quickly, angrily.

"I'm not calling you weak," Roman said, voice even. "I'm just saying that we're starting to get into more serious trouble than we ever have before."

Neo kept scowling, but she signed nothing more.

"You know this is really what being _somebody_ gets you, huh?" Roman chuckled bitterly. "The stakes get higher, and it never changes. Always a bigger fish." He shook his head and looked away, his jaw idly moved, chewing on a cigar that wasn't there. "But you know, I've been thinking that we should really retire once this is out."

Neo's fierce look softened, and she cocked her head, intrigued.

"If we don't get sucked into whatever attack on Atlas or whatever they're planning, I was thinking you and I should just high-tail it out of here to somewhere quiet, somewhere people won't recognize us. You know there's a bit more to life then just running, hiding, fighting."

Neo smiled and signed.

That made Roman laugh. "Well just because those are your favorite parts now doesn't mean we might not find new things later. Who knows, maybe we can settle down? Let's find some sleepy town in Mistral, where nobody knows who we are. By a lake, maybe, so I can try out fishing, get a boat. A pretty countryside. No gangs or rough-up cops. Maybe I'll find a nice farm girl out there, huh?"

Neo rolled her eyes.

"And you can find a nice farm boy?"

She stuck out her tongue.

That just made Roman laugh, and Neo quickly laughed with him—even if she made no sound, the grin was there, the carefree spirit was there.

"Hell, we can take up some neat hobbies, can't we?" Roman continued, invested in the fantasy now. "I've always thought learning some instrument could be fun. A piano, or a violin, something classy like that. What about you? Any secret passions you want to unlock?"

Neo squinted, thinking for a moment, before signing.

"Painting? Yeah that could be fun."

Neo shrugged, not feeling to strongly for her choice, just playing along.

"Though you sure you don't want any singing lessons?"

Her unamused glare widened the smile on Roman's face.

"Oh come on, don't be that way." Roman picked up his hat and put it back on his head. "Let's you and me keep this up, but once we get back to Vale, I'll do some research. I'm serious about this, you know. The moment we're able to slip out from under Cinder, we'll get the hell out of dodge." He rose from his chair and stepped away from the table, now standing tall, energized by the new plan. "Play those extremists against each other, make ourselves useful for now–then when Cinder loosens her grip, we disappear."

Neo smiled and nodded, then signed:

 _Wherever you go, I'll go too._


	33. Chapter 33

**Here's a little thing to tide you over, a bit of a setup/interlude. I try to update when I can, and I really do appreciate my audience for enjoying my work; it feels really great to have people enjoy what I make. But this is also my hobby, and it will be prioritized accordingly. Between chapters 31 and 32, I finished this year of school and finals, moved into a new apartment and started a new job, pretty much overhauling my life. So yeah, update times can drag on as I coordinate things. Although… I also just didn't really 'feel' it for a while. Ah well, I'm back into the writing mood for now!**

 **Today, another enters the fray…**

* * *

Across the cold tundra, gunshots were heard through the storm.

Visibility was low, and the wind was high; in the midst of it stood one figure bound tightly in winter combat gear, a large sword strapped to their back, a pistol in their hand.

Snowy wind whipped and whirled all around them, and twirling through the icy blasts were small drones, robotic targets no larger than a fist, nearly as fast as the wind themselves. They danced erratically, obscured in the storm's embrace.

But one by one, they fell as the figure lined up a shot, fired, lined up a shot, fired.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

The lone figure did this and gunned down two targets in less than a second, the small drones disintegrating into messes of warped shrapnel from the direct hits. When the figure needed to reload, the magazine slid from the pistol and was replaced in a blink of an eye. Then the muzzle flashed again not long after.

The last drone lay in fragments amidst the snow, and only the wind was heard.

But all too soon, a grating noise rose in the distance. Gears squealed and the figure turned in the direction of the latest threat. Deep in the storm, they saw a growing mound, as the layer of snow on the tundra was pushed up and sloughed off of an emerging shape. A clang rang out as a huge metal box rose and settled on the surface.

Then the real cacophony began.

A muffled, angry roar echoed within the thick steel of walls of that solid cage. Great, terrible pounds and scratches emanated as the monster within struggled to escape. The metal shuddered and groaned as it was warped and crashed into by whatever beast lay within.

Then the heavy locks unlatched themselves, mechanisms springing to let an entire wall of the cage unseal and fall down.

Immediately, an immense Ursa twice the size of a truck charged out of the cage, bellowing an incredible roar that trumped even the screams of the surrounding wind. Enraged by captivity, the Grimm looked around, desperate to find something—anything—to tear apart.

Then its cruel red eyes saw the lone figure stood not fifty far away.

It roared again, then charged.

The figure quickly holstered their pistol, then reached to their back and wrapped a hand around the hilt of their sword. With a quick tug, it sprung free of the magnet attached to their back, and they swung the sword in front of them, catching hold of the handle with the other hand as well, then winding back and bending down into a ready stance from which to spring. The double-edged sword was itself almost as long as its master was tall; upright with its point on the ground, the end of the hilt would reach their tall wielder's collarbone.

The blade was a dark, vicious black; it matched in hue the skin or scale of any Grimm.

The Ursa roared violently as it charged, tongue lolling out between jagged teeth in anticipation of the taste of blood. Its red eyes glared down on the unmoving prey. When it closed in, its massive hind legs buckled, and the great thing leapt at its target.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

At the last moment, the figure dashed to the side and swung the huge blade. The Ursa crashed in, but its front right paw connected with the edge of the sword.

Its entire right forelimb was sheared in half.

It tumbled forward, unable to support its mass with its front legs anymore, and it collapsed face-first into the ground. Its pained and angry roar was muffled by its whole head smashing into the snow.

Wasting no initiative, the figure swung back and preserved their momentum, taking several long strides and bringing the sword down in a wide arc. They cleanly cut off the Ursa's back right foot.

The monster brought its head out of the snow, roaring in utter rage. It tried to stand but collapsed to the side, black blood gushing out of shredded limbs.

The warrior dashed ahead around its crippled side, sword held aloft.

The Ursa looked at them and bared its teeth, but it was unable to strike out, powerless.

With a whoosh, the figure brought their sword down one last time, straight on top of their prey's head. Connecting with its skull, the heavy, sharp and expertly propelled weapon easily cleaved the monster's face in half. A gush of blood and loose brain matter spewed out, splashing across the snow, the sword and its wielder.

But as the monster died, the body and gore immediately began to sputter, smoke and fizzle. The great monster's corpse started evaporating, and soon the only evidence of the titan's last failure would be the torn landscape—but even that would be covered over by the wind and fresh snow.

The figure remained vigilant. They kept their breathing calm, controlled, and they carefully scanned all around them, sword aloft, vision piercing through the storm.

After a minute, another figure emerged. It walked out of the distance, and when the first fighter saw this newcomer, the tension left their stance. They swung their great sword around onto their back again, where it locked into place against the magnet. Then the figure stood ramrod straight and saluted.

"Sir!"

The newcomer marched closer without responding. He wore not a combat suit but a white officer's uniform, tailored and cropped closely as all Atlas military apparel was, though a mask protected his face from the elements. Frost-coated medals were stuck to his chest, denoting the reverence he deserved.

He stopped just a few feet away from the figure.

"At ease, legionnaire," said the officer, gruff words cutting through the storm.

The figure dropped their salute, then stood standing at the ready.

"You are hereby discharged from the Atlas Foreign Legion," the officer said, voice cold and direct.

The figure did not react.

The officer reached into his pocket, then pulled out a medal. He held it out.

The figure took and inspected what was really a simple steel badge, a six-pointed star onto which the letters _ASO_ were engraved.

The officer spoke again: "Are you ready for service— _special operative_?"

The figure looked down at their achievement for a few seconds. Their fingers curled around the star's edges, gripping it tightly. Finally, they looked back up and nodded.

"I am."


	34. Chapter 34

**Keep up the guesses about who it was last chapter. It's not an oc, I'll say that much. Also yes, Cass and Kahn are the couple from chapter 30 who Orion caught at the end.**

 **You know, I finally started volume six, and I like it. RWBY's a fun show. I think a lot of the criticism it gets is very valid, but the negativity can be overblown. It's a show to enjoy. Some things, you ought to just enjoy.**

 **Although it did drop off after Vol 3. I remember watching 4 and being like wut nothing happened. Then volume 5 just sorta existed (omg u turned them into birdssss? how eeeevil). Had some good moments. I actually really liked all the reunion scenes and stuff, touching. RWBY shines when the characters interact and when the fights are tight. It's a show to have fun with, and I think a lot of people get too critical for their own good. Tho all the maiden stuff and silver eye stuff could be handled better… or done away with. And so much feels rushed or slapped in last minute. Nevertheless, I have a lot of respect for all the creators. I think ultimately the strongest thing about RWBY is the world and the characters, not so much the plot. I want to check out the manga they're making cause I hear it's a bit different, and it may have the benefit of years of discourse and hindsight to pull off the plot better.**

 **Tho somehow rwby chibi is sorta better than base RWBY.**

 **I've always believed that if you don't like a story, you can give your feedback, but you ultimately have to accept that it's your own opinion. If you don't like a story, you can just make one yourself. That what I'm doing here; NATWWAL is a response not just to RWBY and how I'd like it, but a lot of fics I've read and the tropes they employ, especially other popular fics in the RWBYxFallout crossover category.**

 **But my end advice: just relax and enjoy things.**

* * *

It crashed through whatever dream she'd been having and forced her into the world of the living. A primordial part of herself instantly decided to destroy whatever was the source of the annoying buzz that had woken her up from a sound night of sleep.

"Wake up!"

And now she was even more annoyed.

Weiss growled and sat up, her moisturizing facemask shaking off and falling onto her silk duvet from the sudden movement. She crossed her arms and glared at the errant awakener.

Ruby stood in the middle of their dorm, hands on her hips and already fully dressed. The stupid girl wore a stupid grin.

Weiss's glare was also partly a squint, as the unkind lights had been switched on. She looked and saw the shattered moon low on the horizon, with only the beginning haze of twilight alluding to the night's end.

"I'm going to kill you." The threat came from none other than Yang, who now glared at her sister through a messy covering of her own hair, which always got hopelessly tossed at night.

"Nope!" Ruby cheered happily.

Gods, I want to wipe that stupid smile off her face.

Instead of attack, however, Weiss only sighed, then reached her hands up to rub some of the exhaustion out of her eyes. It would be pointless to try and get through this pest's indomitable will, so might as well accept it and move on.

"Why on earth have you woken us up at this ungodly hour?" Weiss asked.

Yang growled from her bunk, and Blake narrowed her eyes at her team leader.

Oblivious to (or perhaps simply uncaring of) her team's antipathy, Ruby explained herself: "Today is the day of our first mission! We're heading out to a village along the outskirts to clear up a beowolf pack—"

"We are aware," Weiss interrupted, "as to what our missions is." Her words seethed. "I will reiterate the question: why have you woken us up at this _ungodly_ hour?" She reached for her scroll under her pillow, and when she checked the time, seeing that it was five in the morning made her that much angrier.

Ruby only shook her head and smiled. "Because we've got to be ready! This is our first mission we're talking about here! There won't ever be another first! Come on you guys!" She jumped up and down excitedly. "We got to get ready! Get to the gym, get limber and prepped and warmed up!"

"Ugh, the flight will be hours and we won't even get there until the afternoon," Yang complained with a groan. "And then we won't even be doing anything but settling in at our motel. What the hell are we getting ready for? Naps on the bullhead?"

"A huntress must always be prepared!" Ruby replied. She raised a dramatically clenched fist in the air and declared: "And we are true huntresses!"

Her rousing speech was met with silence.

A few awkward seconds passed, before Blake sighed. "Fine," she said. "I call the first shower."

"Now that's the spirit!" Ruby said.

Weiss yawned and wished idly that her runt partner wasn't always so enthusiastic.

Yang immediately began to try and argue with Blake about why, in fact, _she_ should get the first shower, essentially all of her points resting on how it took an hour to properly prepare her golden hair. Blake silently slid into the bathroom and slammed the door, however, and that was that.

The familiar ritual made Weiss smile.

Ruby hopped down on the bed beside her, and a small part of Weiss was intensely enraged by the prospect of her silken duvet being reduced to a seat cushion; but she took a deep breath and let it go. Being paired with Ruby Rose had extraordinarily developed her patience.

She waited for Ruby to say something else to her, as the girl so often did. She'd ask her how she slept, what they'd have for breakfast, what they'd practice before they go and what, exactly, her facemask even did.

Weiss turned her head away and braced herself for the conversation… but it didn't happen.

A few seconds passed, and when Weiss looked, she saw that Ruby was on her scroll. Her teammate wasn't even looking at her.

She leaned over to glance at the screen, and it made her scowl.

"Texting Jaune?" she asked, keeping her voice neutral.

"Nah," Ruby replied. "He's busy with the mission and hasn't texted me since he left. I'm just looking through our old convos…" Ruby slid her finger across the screen, scrolling up through the text history.

Weiss's scowl deepened.

Ruby's smile faded, and she bit on her lip. "I hope he's okay… the mission's a really dangerous one."

"Hmph," Weiss pouted, then looked away.

She would never call it jealousy, but she could admit to frustration. Ever since the dance a couple days prior, practically the only thing Ruby had been able to talk about was Jaune. Jaune this, Jaune that. His name dominated everything since then. And Weiss suspected it would continue to dominate many conversations into the future.

Now she'd confess he wasn't as terrible a person she'd initially assumed. Their spats had become gradually less venomous to the point that now their mutual contempt had become mutual apathy. They existed around one another and although they still bickered, both now knew there wasn't much real hatred behind the words.

But gods damn it, he's messed this up.

Weiss glanced out of the corner of her eye, saw Ruby still looking over her scroll anxiously.

I would prefer if you acknowledged my existence.

Weiss only huffed and got out of bed. She flung her facemask in the trash and sat down at her desk, then arranged the makeup she'd use for the day. As she mechanically selected the proper applications, her thoughts nagged her nevertheless.

Jaune was a brute. He was crass and simple. She still remembered the way he'd talked about sawing someone in half. She still remembered the way he mistreated everyone at the beginning of the year.

But then she remembered how happy he made Ruby. She remembered how he risked his life to save others. She remembered his brief story about how hellish his past had been and how hard he'd worked to move past it.

Recalling all of that, she clenched her jaw and stewed, able to neither hate nor feel pity.

She looked back over her shoulder and saw that the best friend she'd ever had was continuing to ignore her in favor of fawning over her boyfriend. She quickly turned away and busied herself with her morning routine.

Whatever, she didn't care much at all.

* * *

It was a village. A genuine underground town.

He emerged into a large, well-lit cavern. Strong lights drilled into the wall and ceiling, messes of wire stringing them together, shone down on a little town center.

The open space of the cave was crammed with ramshackle stalls, little storefronts made of old metal, concrete and tarps, all clearly salvaged from the ruins above. His wasteland eye told him that even if it all seemed cramped and recycled, it was actually fairly organized and clean. Nothing, despite being old and busted, was grimy or dirty or haphazard. Many stalls took up this tight little market square. Most of them were empty dark now, with only a few people milling around.

Looking up, Jaune saw that the cavern was quite tall, tall enough for there to be a second story along the walls of the cave, with ramshackle scaffolding holding up more people and tables talking outside what may have been apartments; he also saw many more entrances and doors to different rooms and passages.

"Arf!"

Jaune started and looked down, where he saw a skinny little dog had bounded up to him. It looked up at him intently, tail folded down between its hind legs. It growled lightly.

"Sparky get here!"

Jaune looked up and saw a little girl come out from a narrow passageway. She had a smile on her face from chasing the dog, but the moment she saw Jaune, that smile dropped.

The dog looked back at the child, then looked at Jaune, then growled at him again before sprinting back to the girl. Quickly, the child—looking quite distraught by the sight of Jaune—ran back down the hall with the dog beside.

And she wasn't alone. The other citizens in the cramped cave, both those on the scaffolding and down on amidst the stalls, looked at him; on their faces came clear surprise, then nervousness.

Victor came up beside him and said, "This is it. This is the real life of what's left of Mountain Glenn."

"Huh."

With Victor beside him and speaking with him, the others' nervousness receded; some of the citizens walked away, while other cautiously waved.

Hesitantly, he waved back.

"Yeah, people here aren't used to newcomers," Victor said.

"Arf!"

Jaune turned and saw the dog had come back from the narrow passage to bark at him, and behind it the girl nervously looked his way.

"Yeah," he said, "I could tell."

He turned his attention back to the village, however. Mountain Glenn. Or what remained. Again, he was hit by a wave of familiarity, even nostalgia. The build of the place reminded him of just about everywhere he'd been in the wasteland. All the building material was old and scavenged. The peoples' clothes were dull and sometimes a bit tattered. It all had a wear to it. The only thing that differed was that everything wasn't _as_ bad as the wasteland, being maybe a couple decades old rather than a couple centuries, and none of it had been bathed in nuclear fire. But it was all cramped and pushed together; this main area reminded him of the market at Rivet City. He eyed the various doors and open passages, and he wondered just how far out this complex extended.

"There's a few hundred of us," Victor explained. "A lot of people were already used to living and working underground back before Mountain Glenn fell, around the old train station. And a few of us were engineers, and we had Orion and a couple huntsman to keep us safe, so…" He waved his hand before the remnant of civilization. "We made it work."

"Yeah. I can see that."

And Orion managed to get all of this? Well, he did tell me he found a new family here.

"We're a pretty small village now," Victor said. "The older types say it's a lot different than living in Mountain Glenn in its heyday, or living in Vale." He nodded contentedly. "But we all like it this way. We don't see it as a small village so much as a big family, right?"

"Yeah."

Back in the wasteland, the smaller communities were so close-knit. Totally different from how places like Rivet City were run, even if it was fairly meager with a few thousand residents.

"It's impressive," Jaune said. "Life always manages to find a way, huh? When everything falls apart."

"It does," Victor said with a smile. "We're all proud here." He nodded to one of the halls and walked that way. "But if we're late, then Orion'll chew me out."

"Yeah…" Jaune nodded despondently. He followed, but his mind and his eyes stayed tracked on the post-apocalyptic display. He saw more people come out of the tunnels, dozens coming as news of his arrivals spread. From little kids to old citizens, people eyed him warily, excitedly, curiously. He saw Cass and Khan pointing and talking to others around them.

All eyes on him.

He gulped and turned away, then quickened his pace to get beside Victor.

It felt… weird. So weird. _So_ weird.

He might as well have been back on Earth, back in the wasteland. There was a deathclaw here. There was a ruined city. There was a cramped, ramshackle town of survivors. What the hell else was gonna show up?

The familiarity was so uncanny and uncomfortable—it felt like he'd crawled back into an old, long-discarded set of clothes that didn't quite fit him anymore.

They passed into a long tunnel. Jaune was flanked on either side by windows which looked out into tight rooms full of plants suspended in vats of water, flashed with bright lights.

"Our hydroponics," Victor explained. "It's kept all of us from starving after they weren't able to scrounge up any more from the ruins."

"Huh." Jaune didn't know exactly what to say. "You've done everything to live down here…"

"Yup."

"Why? Why not just move back to Vale?"

Victor snorted. "When Mountain Glenn was founded forty years ago, Vale hadn't had new elections in a decade. The government used the Faunus Wars and tensions with Mistral to let them stomp on democracy." Victor crossed his arms and sneered. "So a lot of people started to get out of the city proper and set up something of their own… Vale let them do it, so long as they kept paying taxes. It sorta worked out for a while.

"But even after Vale democratized a little again, there was a lot of animosity. People in Mountain Glenn didn't even get a proportional amount of votes in the council, but they still think we should live by their laws? Pay their taxes?"

They passed the hydroponics and came through a door, into a dank and smelly rock tunnel. Victor's speech got ever more impassioned.

"My parents were part of a movement to get an independence referendum for Mountain Glenn. We were a respectable city, one founded on clean politics and good people, unlike the cesspool that Vale had turned into. We were founded on good ideas, which Vale tried to override by saying we were part of their expansion initiative, that they owned us.

"Eighteen years ago, when the initial wall fell, Vale could have sent in troops and hunters from the main city by the giant subway. They could have. They could have scrambled them in on time.

"But they didn't, because they wanted to teach us a lesson. They wanted to make it so we realized we relied on them for help against the Grimm. And because they didn't help us in time, the invasion got bigger before we knew it, and the entire city fell.

"So yeah," he said gruffly, "we'd rather live by ourselves out here, underground, out of sight, out of mind—free."

"Damn…"

For a minute, there was no sound but their footsteps on the ground. They passed by a few more doors with big signs on them labeled things like: 'spare parts' or 'fermenting foods'. Their trek through the storage area was awkwardly quiet.

Until Victor cleared his throat. "Sorry," he said, "just always get worked up about it."

"I can get why," Jaune said. "How do you know Vale abandoned you?"

"Some of the first few survivors were huntsman and cops," Victor explained. "They told us what happened. They told us that the dispatcher from Vale lectured them about needing help and how they could handle it on their own for a while if they really wanted to be independent, orders from the Prime Councilor.

"So nope, nobody's ever thought about going back to Vale. Not since the Prime Councilor's the same damn guy."

"Yeah…" Jaune said. He'd paid enough attention in history and to the news to know that Vale had had the same Prime Councilor for over twenty years. It seemed that almost like nobody liked him… but he stayed in power because he made sure to keep funding some of the more popular government programs while demonizing and splitting up his opponents so they couldn't form coalitions against him, all while keeping the electoral map rigged to benefit his party and their allies in gerrymandering. His party had long since lost a majority in the council, so he'd been leading shaky minority or coalition governments for over a decade, governments that were barely capable of any legislating, always gridlocked and stagnant.

And somehow, people were apathetic enough to allow all that. Were they just afraid of change? Were they just glad that someone was keeping the Grimm away?

"PC Sparrow," Victor said with disgust. "Until he's dead and gone, nobody here is going back to Vale. There's nothing we can prove, but we know it. We all know it."

Shrewd and intelligent, Sparrow always found a way to hold on… though the bloated stagnation and allegations of corruption were set to make the next election his toughest yet, or so Jaune had heard.

They both came upon a final door, this one large and with a sign marked: _Council Room_. But before they went inside, Victor turned around for a final word:

"Vale was supposed to be a beacon of freedom," he said. "After the Great War, it was the only real place that seemed to have any hope. Vacuo immediately fell into a civil war that still hasn't really ended. Atlas was still a dictatorship that hated creativity and expression. Mistral's King was a senile old psycho, and their nobility didn't want anybody voting for anything.

"But in Vale? The king didn't have any heirs, and he didn't designate any. He helped mend the constitution to make sure Vale would become a republic, no king again. In Vale, people were free to be whoever they wanted… before the Faunus Wars. Before stupid racist humans took control and promised everybody that the mean animals would be beaten if only they gave up a bunch of their rights, no election for a decade, clamp down on the press. Then let corruption rule.

"That trash National Unity Party that was made then has been a cancer on Vale ever since, and Sparrow's been the head of that snake for years. We'd all rather stay out here on our own, elect our own leaders, take care of ourselves."

Victor sighed. Then he awkwardly looked away during the following quiet, his passion leaving off with uncomfortable quiet.

"Sorry, but we feel pretty strong about all that here."

"Yeah, I can tell," Jaune said. He'd heard plenty of things about Sparrow that weren't all that great. Allegations of embezzling and fraud, for one. Slashes to public funds. Gerrymandering. Stricter press laws.

Hm. It was all nothing compared to the trash and decay of the wasteland. Officials nearly everywhere were corrupt and self-serving. Integrity was the exception, not the rule. Only the Brotherhood and the Regulators actually seemed any good.

So he'd been quick to brush off politics and its shortcomings here in Vale, knowing everything could be so, so much worse. And it wasn't like his other friends talked about it much.

Just another reminder that the people on Remnant were just like the ones on Earth.

"Well," Victor said. He ran a hand through his hair, thinking for words. "Sorry for ranting." He chuckled dryly. "But everybody here will go off when you mention Vale…"

"I get it," jaune said. He pointed to the door. "The council through here?"

"Oh, yeah." Victor nodded and pulled back on the heavy, rusted handle. "Shouldn't delay you any more…"

"It's alright. Really interesting to hear, actually." Jaune shrugged. "Just… different priorities at the moment."

"Right," Victor said, nodding again. He wrenched the door open.

"About time," called a woman from the room within. "Are you Jaune?"

He stepped into the new room. It was a small lobby, a little space with plenty of chairs around the walls. A stocky and tough-looking woman stood inside, just in front of another door. She had a pistol strapped to her waist and one arm in a sling. Two dog ears pointed straight up out of her head.

Before Jaune could answer her, Victor spoke for him: "Yeah this is Orion's guy. And by the way, caught your sister trying to sneak out with Kahn again."

The woman's stoic face flashed with surprise, then narrowed into a scowl. "That idiot," she said. "I'll tear her apart later, just leave us for now."

"Gotcha," Victor said hastily. He swallowed and turned to Jaune. "That's, uh, Vanessa." He furtively looked back at the woman, then silently stepped away and let Jaune walk through.

The door was closed behind him, and Jaune was left alone with the new woman.

"Vanessa Pride," the woman said. "I'm a deputy here in Mountain Glenn, Orion's second in command." She marched forward and put out her good hand. "A pleasure to meet you."

He grasped her hand and looked her in the eye as he shook. "Same."

Her grip was strong but without the tell-tale strength of aura. He was still impressed by how firm it was, as well as by her strong demeanor.

Vanessa nodded and stepped back; it seemed he'd had the same effect on her. "Anyone with Orion's respect has a place here with us. I'm happy to have your help." She tilted her head to the main door. "The council's waiting."

"Then let's get to it."

She marched to the door, grabbed the heavy handle with her good hand, twisted it and pulled. The door grated as she hauled it open, and Jaune thanked her as he walked through.

The room was large (by the standards of the cramped subterranean tunnels and dwellings) and well-lit by bright spotlights set into the walls. A huge, dark hole opened up into the ceiling. Several people sat around a large round table which was made of steel plates soldered together in typical post-apocalypse fashion.

The first person he noticed was, of course, Orion. Considering there was no other entrance or exit, he assumed the deathclaw must have come in through the ceiling-hole. Now in much better light, he was able to observe him more clearly than before; better, in fact, than he'd ever observed _any_ living deathclaw. Brutal scars lined the creature's hide, proof of long years in the fight. Other than that, the most noticeable new detail was that he wore pants. Or shorts. Rough canvas shorts that must have been specially made for him.

A deathclaw wearing pants. Now I've really seen it all.

"Hm. Jaune," Orion called. He motioned for him to take a seat at a chair beside him.

Jaune nodded and did so, as Vanessa closed the door behind them. Sitting down, he took note of the others in the room. A few older men and women wearing clothes that would pass for nice in the wasteland, decorated robes and old suits and dresses. Thirteen in all, including Orion. They seemed perfectly at ease sitting at a table with a monster.

Orion growled, his way of calling attention.

"Fellow councilors," he said. "I present Jaune Arc, a new friend to Mountain Glenn." He pointed one claw at Jaune.

All eyes were on him.

He didn't know which made him more uncomfortable: having the sharp point of a deathclaw's claw mere inches from his face, or having a roomful of eyes picking him apart.

He quickly determined it was the latter.

"Um, hello," he said, meagerly waving his hand. He was quiet then, hoping Orion would cover for him from there.

"I have told them of you," Orion explained to Jaune. "That we are from Vacuo, and I know your family."

Jaune nodded curtly. Hopefully their lie would be enough.

"And you're willing to help us drive out those faunus at the train station?" one of the councilors asked.

"Of course," Jaune replied. He crossed his arms, resolute. "It's my mission and the mission of my team to destroy them. Either that, or report their presence back to Vale."

He immediately realized he should not have said that last part.

The councilors instantly darkened. Their reactions ranged from fear to panic to anger at the simple mention of Vale's name—no, at the possibility that Vale might come snooping back.

"I won't!" Jaune raised up his hands and tried to console the suddenly agitated group. "Victor told me how much you hate Vale, so I won't tell them anything about you. But I _will_ have to make a report back that the White Fang were here."

"So if we destroy them now," Orion said, "then you can report as much and Vale will not send forces in."

"Um…"

Jaune nervously looked back and forth between Orion and the councilors, who were leaning over in their seats, scrutinizing him now with an intensity that outmatched their earlier mix of caution and curiosity.

Damn, it was times like this he wished he still wore a mask. It was so much easier to be imposing, to cut yourself off from others, to get over the usual hurdles of anxiety and speech.

But back then, in the time of the Lone Wanderer, all of his interactions had been full of threats and intimidation. Time to be a different person. Time to be Jaune Arc.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

"We can destroy them," Jaune said resolutely. He straightened his posture and nodded. "We can do it. Now. Vale won't have to send any big force in to wipe them out. But I'm sure some extra teams of investigators will be sent out after to look into what they were doing here."

That clearly unsettled the councilors, but it had to be said.

"I'm sorry but it's the truth. There's no way I can prevent at least some extra attention here. I have a team. I'll keep them in the dark about you all as best as I can." He leaned forward in his seat and clasped his hands together. "I promise that I know what you feel. I know what it feels like not to trust an authority, to want to be hidden. I know that and I'll protect that. I will."

His words had weight, and the councilors sensed his sincerity. Some of them looked a little less anxious, but the obvious reality of Vale's attention coming dangerously close to their thus-far hidden village clearly unsettled them.

"It will be fine," said one councilor. "We'll do what we did in the early days: cut off tunnels and restrict access. That's how we stayed hidden back when the search parties and patrols from Vale after the city's fall."

"There will be dissent among the youngsters," said an old councilor, a pale and greying human.

"They understand the value of our secrecy," said a markedly younger councilor, a dark-skinned girl with bunny ears springing out of her head. "If we explain it well, then we can put up a referendum and tight movement restraints will pass easily.

"And anyone can leave if they don't like being cooped up more," the councilor continued. She looked to Jaune. "We're going to have to accept that Vale is going to come snooping around. It's not like we can do anything about Jaune or his team giving the report."

Not unless they were willing to stop him.

That was the unsaid possibility, but Jaune was grateful that none of them even mentioned it. Was it because they were good people? Or was it just because they knew Orion would never allow the action?

He scooted his chair a bit closer to the deathclaw, finding comfort in his monstrous new friend's protection and approval.

"Jaune and his team are hunters," Orion said. His deep, loud voice easily flatted the other councilors' discussion and took command of the room. "They and I can crush the White Fang."

"Are you sure of that?" said the older councilor. "Our scouting reports at least fifty of them, all armed. And they aren't bad shots, if what they did to Vanessa is an indicator."

Jaune looked back to Vanessa; more specifically, he eyed her cast. Evidently, she hadn't been as careful as she should have when scouting.

"But most of them don't have aura," the elder said. "I know from experience that one hunter can take on ten of them without a problem. Hell, if they were all without aura, Orion could have torn them apart a long time ago." He shook his head. "If only."

"But some of them do?" Jaune asked.

"I know so," Orion said. "People with aura feel different."

"Feel?" Jaune looked to him curiously.

"My semblance," Orion explained. He brought up a claw and pointed at his beady yellow eyes. "Very simply, I can _see_ people's souls. Hm. It's very hard to explain. More like I can _feel_ or _track_ people, through rock and walls. I can sense them, find them."

Hunt them. Jaune didn't say aloud his observation, but a part of him panicked at the thought of a deathclaw with such advanced stalking prowess.

"The two in gas masks have aura," Orion said. "As does the one with a hat and a cane, and the little one with an umbrella."

"Ah shit." Jaune couldn't stop from swearing. But he didn't care, more concerned by the worsening situation. He answered the others' curious looks: "Roman Torchwick, Neopolitan and Gas Masks. They're all tough criminals from Vale who work with the White Fang. I've fought them before, and they're bad news."

The councilors nervously looked at each other.

"Me, my team and Orion could probably take them," Jaune said. "But it'd be tough, and then there are all the other White Fang to deal with, too."

"And the robots," the young councilor said with a sigh.

"Aw come on," Jaune said. He groaned. "They have robots too?"

"Large mechanized suits," Orion said.

"Yeah I know what you're talking about," Jaune said. "They stole some a while ago, but I didn't know they brought them out here. Must really want to keep this operation safe… or…"

"They're preparing an attack," Orion said. "Hm. We've thought as much. They've cleared the old tunnel to Vale and loaded a train with huge amounts of dust. They might be trying to bring it into the city—"

"But they took it out of the city and brought it here," Jaune said. "They've been stealing the stuff in Vale and throughout the country for months. They're bringing it here…"

"They're planning something bad for Vale," said Orion.

"A part of me wants to let it happen…" said the elder councilor.

"We can't sink to Sparrow's level!" The young councilor reared on her elder.

"I said a _part_ of me," said the elder. "A small, bitter part"- he scowled and shook his head -"that remembers well this city's fall No. Of course we're going to stop this. I propose we authorize deployment of the militia immediately, to support Orion and Jaune's team in eliminating the White Fang."

The room erupted in chatter.

"But that will surely expose us!" called one of the councilors.

"So you propose we sit back and let others solve _our_ problems?" the elder asked. "Where is your honor?"

"The main priority is getting rid of these White Fang," said the youngest. On the table, her hands balled into fists, and her bunny ears stood ramrod straight. "If that exposes us to the rest of Jaune's team and possibly the scrutiny of Vale, then so be it. We need to get rid of those thugs, for our own safety and the safety of others."

"I couldn't put it better myself," said the elder.

"Well," Jaune said, "I'd like to get a detailed layout of the station and info on their forces, so then we can plan out—"

The loud grating of the opening door cut off Jaune and ended the conversation. They turned and saw Victor, a nervous look on his sweaty face. He spent a moment to catch his breath, having clearly run there.

"They caught somebody!" he said. "The scouts radioed in: the White Fang caught somebody."

"Who?" Orion asked.

Victor gulped nervously, then looked at Jaune. Well, he looked at Jaune for just a second, before averting his gaze to the floor.

"Um, by the description, I think it's one of Jaune's teammates, the guy in green."

* * *

 **Aw come on Ren, you're supposed to be the ninja! But in this case, you're serving as a plot device to speed the end of the Mountain Glenn arc. I'm ending it shorter here because next chapter's pacing will be much faster, filled with panic and violence.**

 **For all of you who've been waiting for some gruesome fallout-style violence from our favorite chainsword-wielding reforming edgelord, hold onto your butts.**

 **And as always, please leave any reviews and questions you please.**


	35. Chapter 35

**Putting this one out sooner than 5 months, lol**

* * *

"Aw come on, don't leave me hanging!" Ruby said. "Come on Weiss, you're going to make Mr. Hand sad!"

"I don't care about your hand, Ruby," her belligerent partner replied. Weiss sat down on the bench, arms crossed. "I refuse to entreat you after waking us up so early. We've been waiting for such a while…"

Yang giggled. Her sister and her sister's bestie were just too much fun sometimes. She looked away from them and enjoyed the view of the sunrise over the Emerald Forest, their bickering a pleasant backdrop.

At the moment, team RWBY was waiting at Beacon's small airfield, ready to be picked up soon. They'd be ferried to Vale, where a different bullhead would pick them up again and bring them to a fairly close village where they'd be on guard for beowolves.

"They're cute," Yang said to her partner. Blake sat beside her on a bench, nose in a book as usual.

She smiled. "They are. It's a fun team."

"Yeah," Yang said. She sighed. "Still a little bored."

Blake hummed. "Should get a book."

"Nah."

"Then don't complain."

Yang looked at her partner, then back to her sister and teammate bickering. Ruby seemed to be holding up her right hand like it was a mouth, and it was lecturing Weiss for not returning the high-five. Weiss, meanwhile, refused to address 'Mr. Hand'.

Yang smiled again.

Absent of anything better to do, she reached down to the backpack between her legs and rooted through its contents for a bit, then pulled out a brush. She took hold of some of her illustrious hair and ran the bristles through.

"Your hair is so high maintenance," Blake commented.

"Yup, and I love it. Never getting rid of this gold," Yang said, happily stroking her long locks.

Man, this was nice. Here she was with her best friends, about to depart on a sick new adventure. A giddy excitement had been fizzling in her stomach like the fuse of a firecracker. She hoped that things would blow up soon.

* * *

"After this, maybe you can have a day off." He spoke through a black gas mask.

The Commander only grunted, brushing off the suggestion without a moment's consideration. Instead, he continued doing pushups in the middle of the train car.

"I'm serious," said his lieutenant, sitting back on a wooden crate. "Even now, you're working yourself to death."

The Commander didn't answer; instead, he finished a few more push-ups before standing.

"That was nothing," he said, and it was true. He breathed through his gas mask easily, not even winded by the workout. "Just something to get my blood going after having to wake up so early." Coincidentally, he yawned at that moment, but through his mask it sounded more like some bizarre wheeze.

"Besides," he continued, "exercise is good for endorphins, which is good for both mental and physical health—"

"I know, I know," his lieutenant said, waving a hand dismissively. "I was just joking about that—but I wasn't joking about the day off. In the two years we've been at this, you haven't taken a single day off." He shook his head. "I can't remember you ever going on vacation back before, either."

"Because we can't afford it." The Commander sighed. "If we could, then yes I would certainly go on vacation."

"But we're better off now than we've ever been before—"

"Which just means I should be all the more careful," the Commander said, cutting him off and wagging a finger at the man. "Be as careful at the middle and the end as you are in the beginning."

"I'm just saying that now there are people you can delegate to, that maybe you can get over the workaholic control-freak part of yourself for a period of just 24-hours."

"24 hours is a long time in war," the Commander replied. "And we _are_ at war, mind you."

"I know, but even soldiers are given leave. Even _you_ might crack eventually without a break."

"Hmph." The Commander crossed his arms and said nothing. After a few moments of silence, he eventually said, "Fine, I'll think about it."

His lieutenant only laughed. "I know you, and I know that answer means you won't think about it at all."

The Commander shrugged.

"Oh come on," the lieutenant said, "this is the biggest thing we've done since that Edrian business or the bullhorn raid. We're going to be lying low after this, so you won't have missions—"

"But I can help train the recruits."

"We've already got some vets who can train them."

"But I can help with logistics."

"You're great with spreadsheets, but Blair can take on a bigger workload for a little bit."

The Commander tutted and placed his hands on his hips. "You're a devil on my shoulder."

"Au contraire, I'm the angel. The only devil here is you."

"That's no way to be talking to a superior officer."

The lieutenant laughed again. "Can it, you really going to pull rank to shut me up?"

The Commander laughed as well. "No, I could never do that to you. You wouldn't listen even if I tried. Your mouth is too big, and your brain is too slow."

They chuckled for a little while. The Commander retrieved his sword, which he'd left leaning against the side of the train car. He sat down on the crate next to his lieutenant.

"Besides, aren't I taking a break right now? We're just waiting."

* * *

This time, being carried by Orion was a bit more comfortable—barely.

It was, at least, lacking in fear for immediate and painful death. There was none of the original terror and confusion, which made everything markedly better. But he was still tightly pressed against the tough hide of a monster, which quickly bounded through pitch-black tunnels.

However, the only thing that truly bothered him at the moment was Ren. His teammate had been captured. Captured while he was away. He was their leader, but he'd failed.

Jaune grit his teeth and hoped Orion would hurry.

If Ren had been hurt, he'd personally skin alive every White Fang son of a bitch in Mountain Glenn.

The deathclaw bounded through the darkness. As he did, Jaune began fantasizing unpleasantly: he imagined his dear friend beaten, hurt, tortured, killed…

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

Stupid fucking thoughts.

"We're here," Orion said. He dropped Jaune on his feet.

Jaune pulled out his scroll and used the lockscreen's dim light to get a bearing of the otherwise pitch-black surroundings, not daring to possibly give away their position with the stronger flashlight. With the meager glow, he saw a large gate set into a tunnel entrance ahead of them.

"It's alright," Orion said. "I don't sense anyone near, or up ahead. They're further down, concentrated by the old station." He lumbered toward the gate. Despite his great size, Orion naturally walked almost silently. His feet were padded, and his gait distributed weight evenly and forwards, so his footsteps barely produced any noise.

He gingerly reached out one claw, with the tip of which he put a code in the gate's keypad.

"Code accepted," said an electronic voice.

"I eavesdropped on a patrol that came through here," Orion explained. "I've used this entrance ever since." Orion pushed open the heavy gate, Jaune following closely behind.

"The militia will be roused and come here immediately. Hm. Many will be asleep, but they'll come fast. And armed. Mostly with rifles I took from the White Fang I killed." Orion lead him through the cave, at the end of which a dull light shone. "Twenty minutes is the earliest we can be ready."

"Alright," Jaune said. "It will probably take longer to find the others…"

"Hm." Orion said nothing more as they emerged into a large cavern.

Jaune turned off his scroll. Large cracks in the cavern ceiling let the twilight seep down. Sunrise had just begun. The exhilaration and adrenaline of fighting Grimm, being kidnapped by a monster and now having a friend in mortal danger all kept him from feeling too much of the exhaustion that an all-nighter enforced. However, his body definitely felt slightly more sluggish than it should have. His reaction time wouldn't be quite as acute. All of that, combined with the wear from a day of fighting Grimm, took a toll.

I'm out of practice. Back in the wasteland, I could go a couple days with no sleep, barely eating or resting, and I'd still be ready for a fight.

He looked down at his body. His muscle mass had certainly grown with access to proper nutrition and calibrated exercise. But not all the weight he'd gained was muscle. Damn ice cream. Stupid candy. No more sugar once this is over. You've embraced Remnant's decadence, and that has made you weak.

He shook his head. Even this. His mind was wandering more than it should be. Stay focused, idiot.

He looked ahead and took in the environment. More ruined buildings, a smaller under the city.

"This is where many refugees took shelter as the city fell," Orion explained. "Hm. Then the Grimm dug through the ceiling, tore through the streets. They breached the subway, and the last bastion became a final massacre."

A once lively place, now a total ghost town.

"We've done our best to excavate the corpses over the years," Orion said. "Give them proper funerals."

"I guess that's why this place isn't full of skeletons, huh?"

Orion nodded. Wordlessly, he led Jaune carefully down the cavern, towards the nearest abandoned building. They slipped in through a collapsed wall section. Then Jaune crept through and looked up through a busted window, peering between cracks. At the far end of the cavern, he saw spotlights set up. He even barely made out some movement.

"The White Fang operate down there," Orion explained. "They would have taken your friend there. Hm. He should still be alive. They would want to question him."

"And he won't tell them anything," Jaune said. He brought one hand to the hilt of Crocea Mors and squeezed it so tightly that the steel hilt creaked under his superhuman force. "And then they'll get rid of him when they realize that."

"We race against time," Orion said. "Hold on." He stood taller and raised his head in the air, craning around as if looking out over a vast field, even though there was not but a cramped and dark cavern before them.

Jaune said nothing as Orion focused, looking around seemingly at nothing. He looked in one direction and leaned forward, peering into the distance.

"That way," he said, pointing a claw at the side of the cavern. "There is life that way. I can feel it, people with aura. They always stand out more strongly to my semblance. And there is very little other life in Mountain Glenn to pollute my tracking. Hm." Orion nodded resolutely. "It must be them."

"How do I get to them?"

"From that direction is another entrance to the cave, but that one is open and guarded, so I avoided it. Your team must be preparing to attack into the cavern from there. I feel some other life, no aura. The guards."

"Alright, then I'll go meet up with them."

"And I'll wait here for the militia."

"How do we coordinate when to attack?"

"Hm." Orion sat back on his haunches and growled in that contemplative manner of his. His head jerked up to look at Jaune when he got an idea. "There is a building near that entrance, one that had a McDonough's restaurant on its first level. Climb to the top of it, and when I sense you're there, I'll know." He pointed one claw at the far end of the cavern. "We'll sneak around, strike there."

"Sounds good."

"Hm. But if you get loud with the guards, if they have guns, I'll lead the militia in immediately."

"Guess there's that, too," Jaune said. "I've never been one for finesse, but I'll try to stay quiet until you're ready."

Orion nodded. "Keep your team on that side of the cavern. I'll move in with the militia shooting behind from the other side. You head toward the train cars, and we'll head to their hq, the main building."

"It's a plan," Jaune said. He fidgeted where he stood, desperate to sprint and meet up with his team as quickly as he could, holding back only because he knew how important it was to strategize.

"Twenty minutes," Orion said. "The militia should be here by then, hopefully."

"Hopefully," Jaune said. He slapped Orion's arm—as one would a comrade—then ran to the nearest door.

"Jaune."

He stopped with one foot in the doorframe, then turned back to his new deathclaw companion.

"Good luck," Orion said with a nod.

"Knowing you've got my back, I won't need it," Jaune said. He nodded back, then turned and rushed out into the cavern.

He crouched low and as close to the floor as he could while dashing across the street. He made himself as small a target to spot as he could, all the more necessary as whatever faunus lookouts they had would certainly see through the dark. Although, he cringed at the loud scrapes his feet made against the torn stone ground.

But Orion was right that no one was near. He got to another building, what appeared to be an old office complex, with no troubles. He vaulted in through a broken window, then jogged through the interior.

As he neared the side of the building, he ducked and slowed. He drew Crocea Mors, finger off the trigger. The chainsword's scream would surely echo throughout the cavern, alerting everybody who wasn't deaf. Better to just bludgeon some people.

Ugh. Would he bother being non-lethal? No. Not in a situation this tense, with murderers and terrorists. His teammates would just have to accept his actions.

He looked down at his outfit, a navy blue coat and pants. At least it was dark enough that any blood would simply be dark stains, indiscernible. Easy to ignore.

Perhaps five or so minutes after leaving Orion, and another building to creep through, he reached a different window, then peeked up–

He immediately ducked as a body flew through the window and crashed into some desk behind him.

"Holy shit!" He looked back at the unconscious White Fang grunt crumpled on the ground. Cautiously, he looked over the edge of the window—

He immediately ducked again as a bronze disc cut through the air almost as quickly as a bullet, missing his skull by but an inch and lodging into the wall behind him.

He threw his hands into the air, visible from outside through the window. "It's me!" he said, paradoxically trying to yell as quietly as possible, hoping his voice wouldn't carry too far. "Pyr, it's me!"

"Jaune?"

He saw his conspicuous (with her scarlet hair and impressive height) partner in the gloom, standing in the doorway of another building across a spacious alley. Immediately, a bright smile shone on her face.

"Pyr," Jaune said as he vaulted through the window, "sorry I couldn't—"

Jaune was cut off as Pyrrha charged in and swept him up in a hug. She squeezed as hard as she could, such that Jaune felt like he was trapped in one of those giant industrial compactors they use to crush a car into a neat little cube.

"Jesus god—" he wheezed, lungs forcefully emptied.

"We were so worried!" Pyrrha said.

He answered with a strangled gasp.

"Jaune!?"

And there you go, it was about to get worse.

Nora suddenly sprinted out the same building and wrapped both arms around her teammates, then squeezed even tighter than Pyrrha was.

Jaune's lungs cried in pain, but he couldn't deny a potent feeling of happiness.

"Alright come on, get serious," said another voice, a gruff one.

For once, Jaune was grateful that Qrow was butting in.

Nora let go of them, and then Pyrrha stepped back as well, allowing Jaune to breathe once more. Looking over, he saw past Qrow into the building, where terrorists lay unconscious on the floor before a tunnel entrance. They must have been quick about getting through and crushing the guards. He'd shown up right on time.

"They took Ren," Nora said. Her voice sounded like shuddering glass, close to cracking.

And when he looked back at her, his heart sunk. The look on her face… he'd never imagined that his ever-jubilant companion could look so distraught, worried and terrified all at once. Her eyes were wide and panicked. Everything about her posture was hunched and guarded, as if she were exposed, a layer of herself stripped away and made raw.

Jaune kept his mouth shut. He didn't trust his own acting performance very well, so might as well try to act as little as possible.

Pyrrha stretched out a hand, and her shield flew back out of the window, covered in the dark tinge of her polarity. When she caught it, she turned back to Jaune. "We thought you were dead!" Her voice was an angry whisper, some mix between relief, fear and anger. "That beowolf—"

"Dragged me away," Jaune said, cutting her off. "I got free and carved it out. But it dragged me into the sewers so…" He shrugged. "I wandered around and came out here. No scroll signal underground either, sorry."

"Well," Qrow said, "as you can see, the White Fang have set up a full operation. Once you went missing, we scoured the city and found this chasm."

"And now we found you!" Nora clasped her hands together, a sad and desperate smile on her face.

Qrow had a more reserved smile on his face. He reached out and placed his hands on Jaune's shoulder, then squeezed lightly. It felt very nice.

"You dropped this," he said, holding out the Mysterious Magnum.

"Guess I did," Jaune said, taking hold of the gun. Its comfortable and familiar grip reassured him. He felt somewhat whole again, with his arsenal properly rounded out once more.

"But they captured Ren?" he asked, quickly changing the subject.

"Yeah…" Pyrrha said, trailing off for not knowing what else to say.

"It was my fault," Nora said quickly, guiltily. Her speech was rushed, desperate, panicked. Everything about her, from the look in her eyes to the hunch in her shoulders to jitter in her feet, was on edge and without total control. "We were walking around and we saw some cracks and Ren told us to be careful but I kept walking and the ground gave out and he jumped and pulled me back but"- she stopped to catch her breath, also bringing a hand up to wipe out a tear forming in her eye –"he pushed me out the way and he fell instead and—"

"Hush," Pyrrha said, cupping Nora's hands in her own. "It's not your fault; he made that choice."

"But—"

"It's really not your fault," Qrow said. He sighed. "Sometimes, there's just a bit of bad luck around…"

"But—"

"But nothing," Jaune said. "We go and we get him. Now."

"We saw him getting dragged off by a few of the White Fang," Qrow said. "He got knocked out on the way down; if he hadn't, then no way these schmucks would've been able to take him in." He jerked a thumb back to the entrance they came from, as well as the half-dozen unconscious guards. "They're not much."

"We interrogated that one," Pyrrha said, pointing past Jaune and at the building he'd just come from. She must have meant the poor guy who got flung through the window… he wouldn't be waking up for a while… or maybe ever. Especially if Orion got to him later.

"He told us they took Ren to the admin building, which has a big blue sign on it," Nora said. He reached around her back and tugged out Magnhild, which she extended into the full hammer form. Her fists tightened around it, and a vicious scowl formed on her brow. "So lets get him."

Jaune had never seen her like this, this mix of anxiety and anger. He hadn't even known she was quite capable of it.

But he didn't blame her at all. He felt the same fear—he was just better at hiding it for the sake of the fight.

"Well first let's try to get a look of what their setup is here," he said. "Maybe we can get up in one of the buildings, get a view of the place—"

"No time," Nora said. She'd swung now from near hysterical to downright mad. "We run in and bash anybody in our way and save him before he's hurt!"

"If we don't do it right, then he gets hurt and so will we," Jaune said, voice monotone.

"Have to agree," Qrow said. "We want to at least know a bit of what we're getting into—"

"No time!" Nora repeated, this time snapping out the words. "We have to get him back _now_!"

"They're already going to be expecting us," Jaune said, still keeping his voice even, as agreeable as possible. "So they'll be waiting, which means we need to at least sort of know what we're getting into."

"But—"

"Hey," Jaune said. He walked up and reached out, wrapping his hands around hers, even as they were balled into fists around Magnhild. "If we don't keep our cool, this will go south real fast."

"But—"

"Look at me," Jaune said. "Look me in the eye."

Nora seemed ready to keep fighting. She looked down, gritting her teeth, holding back a shout. She wanted to scream in his face, wanted to go ballistic. Surely, she'd done just that a bit before. He didn't doubt that she'd crushed a lot of bones a minute ago.

But he was her leader and her friend, and she trusted and respected him. After a moment, she swallowed. He felt her hands slacken beneath his own. Then she tilted her head up and looked him in the eye.

That close, he could now tell she must have been crying. He saw the red in her eyes, a bit puffier now. Ren was almost everything to her (to a frankly unhealthy extent).

"Just breathe in, hold it, then let it go," he said. "Keep your cool. Otherwise, we'll die and he'll die too."

"I…" She stopped talking, then screwed her eyes shut.

She breathed in deep. She held it. She let it go.

He felt her hands slacken even more, and he saw her shoulders lose some of their stiffness.

"Alright, now we go out, find a vantage point, get ready to strike."

Nora nodded. "Got it."

"Maybe I should do some scouting," Qrow said.

"I'd be more comfortable if you kept with us for a bit," Jaune replied. "Don't want to get too split up around here… never know who might be around." He didn't want Qrow discovering Orion and the militia, then getting panicked. Better to keep him close.

Qrow grunted, a simple acceptance.

Without another word, the team was off. He scanned the area and saw the McDonough's, then lead his team to it, weapons raised in gun forms.

Gratefully, they got to the right building without being sighted. They rushed into the McDonough's, and the others didn't protest when he suggested getting up to the top. Taking the stairs two at a time, the team shortly were on the roof and overlooking the nearby train station. He pulled out his scroll and zoomed in.

"There's a lot of them," Pyrrha said. They saw figures milling around, mostly concentrated around a train. They were filling it with cargo.

"Must be some humans," Qrow said, "otherwise they wouldn't bother with the lights."

"Probably Torchwick and Neo, or the gas masks," Jaune said. "Maybe they even have the other Paladin models they stole here."

"I hope not," Qrow said. "But if they do, Miss Magnet can take them, right?"

"They're big but yes," Pyrrha said. "My polarity can counter them."

"I see it!" Nora said. "The admin building; it's over there to the left of the train." She pointed, and sure enough there was a dilapidated, two-story office, half of which was fully collapsed. "He's in there!"

"Alright, let's think up a plan," Jaune said.

They talked, and the plan came out like this:

Qrow's semblance lets him turn into a bird (new information that left Pyrrha and Nora quite surprised for a moment). He'll fly up ahead and try to get into that building. There, he frees Ren. Meanwhile, Jaune, Nora and Pyrrha will get as close as they can, moving through the building to link up with them at the admin building, taking out any White Fang that they see. They'll draw the attention, and any White Fang that rush out to fight them will get flanked by Qrow and Ren. From there, they can try to make their escape if the fighting gets too heavy.

"I think me and ninja-boy should just try to make a break for it," Qrow said. "I'm not sure we're going to be able to take them all on by ourselves, if they've got Torchwick, the gas masks, robots and whoever knows how many White Fang who are actually skilled." Frustrated, he pulled out his flask and took a gulp, then wiped his lips. "Might as well just try to get back and warn Ozpin and the Council."

Yeah, that's not going to work. If Orion and the militia commit, but we don't, then the survivors of Mountain Glenn will all be in danger.

"But if they're planning something bad with that train, we might need to stop them _now_."

"Hell…" Qrow weighed the option, not entirely convinced.

Jaune grit his teeth. How much damn time had passed—

He heard a roar. It echoed through the previously quiet cavern, filling up the space like a sudden boom of thunder.

In fact, everyone heard it. The others gasped and looked down the chasm. There was immediate shouting down by the train station, as well as shooting.

A moment later, and there were also horrible, pained screams.

"Grimm are attacking!" Pyrrha looked down with worry.

"Go!" Jaune said to Qrow. "Go get Ren, and the rest of us will go in loud!"

"Grimm are doing us a favor for once," Qrow said.

Well, not actually.

But of course, Jaune didn't correct his mentor as the man fizzled into a cloud of smoke, his physical form condensing into a bird. He flapped his wings and quickly darted off the roof and into the gloom.

The three fell back to the stairs and jumped down several at a time, going as fast as they could. Once they reached the ground floor and rushed out of the building, they heard that the gunfire had picked up even more. In the distance, muzzle flashes quite conspicuously flared in the windows of an abandoned building.

Thankfully, the others either didn't notice yet or figured they were more terrorists gunning at whatever Grimm had busted into the cabin.

He ignored it, trusting the militia and Orion to keep the attention as he charged forward, drawing the Mysterious Magnum. "Nora," he said, "once we get in range, light it up."

"Will do!" His teammate brandished her grenade launcher as they charged. Ahead of them, a few White Fang grunts rushed to the commotion, completely unaware of the hunter threat.

They neared, and Nora raised Magnhild. She pulled the trigger.

Grenade after grenade fired, streaking up through the air. Jaune barely kept track of the dark little shapes as they arced through the dim cavern—then they came back to life.

Each violently exploded, tearing into the large shipping containers and rugged buildings around the station. One in particular struck down on a container and—

 _BOOM!_

"Jesus!" Jaune closed his eyes as the container exploded into an immense cloud of flame and lightning that flumed up like a titan that nearly touched the cave's roof and momentarily lit the entire cavern. It sent nearby faunus flying and yelling. The dust left inside continued to burn in a bizarre inferno that was part flame, part electricity.

"It was full of dust!" Pyrrha said. "Is this where they've taken all the dust they stole?"

"Seems like it," Jaune said. "Hang back; you don't know if more dust is gonna catch—"

"Oh it will!" Nora shouted. She'd reloaded her grenade launcher and raised it again. She launched off another volley of shots, which came down around the station. This time, she aimed specifically for the shipping containers. A couple more were hit, but they were empty duds. She did strike another one, however, which exploded into a rage of ice, shooting frozen gusts of wind and shards of ice like jagged shrapnel. That prompted a new brand of shouting, screaming and running as a dozen terrorists were thrown off their feet and hurled away, injured or dead. When Jaune looked over, he saw that it had put a smile on Nora's face.

"I'm out now," she said. She pressed a button and swung Magnhild out into its full hammer form. "Time to get personal!"

"Seems like it," Jaune said.

Pyrrha raised her spear and shield. "Let's teach them a lesson."

The three charged, and something about it felt so… right. Despite himself, a smile came onto Jaune's face. He didn't doubt for a moment that Qrow would free Ren. He was certain that Orion had already ripped apart a dozen terrorists. He knew that Nora and Pyrrha, as elite as they were, would be fine. He was confident in his own skills. He and his team were kickass, and they were doing good.

He smiled, because they would crush it.

He charged forward, and as they finally passed by the first empty train cars and smoldering wrecks of containers that had finally died down in their infernos, they at last ran into a few White Fang. Just a couple of them.

He pulled the trigger twice, and then there were none. The magnum's booms left them silent; only squelching and cracking noises emanated from their bodies; flesh and organs were torn apart, and bones were crushed. The high-powered dust rounds of the Mysterious Magnum were strong enough to puncture Grimm hides and scales. He hadn't bothered to bring any of the 'light' rounds that could bruise and knock out human combatants.

Pyrrha stopped dead. Her bravado blanched as she saw the men suddenly have large holes in the middle of their chests. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. The color drained from her face. Nora, meanwhile, was oblivious, having rushed in a different direction to swing Magnhild at another pair of sword-wielding faunus.

His partner was frozen. Slowly, she turned to look at him.

"Don't go getting cold feet," he told her. His face was resolute, unsympathetic; his voice, cold. "This is a real fight."

A second went by. Then Pyrrha shivered, and she closed her eyes tightly. When she opened them again, that shaky, uncertain look was still on her face. But she nodded.

Jaune nodded back. He reloaded a few rounds into the magnum and cocked it just as Nora got back from her bone breaking. Another roar was heard in the distance, a fresh round of screaming. The screams were cut off quickly, however, and then the three saw a dark shape flying up through the cavern, headed straight for them.

When it landed in front of them with a wet smack, they realized it was a mauled corpse. Apparently, Orion was really letting them have it.

"Oh gods!" Nora screeched and jumped back. She'd been the closest, and a splash of blood spurted up and onto her. She gasped and wiped some off of her face, but then panicked to see that it had stained her clothes.

"Come on!" Jaune said. "Get a grip of yourselves—what, you figured you'd never have to deal with stuff like this?"

"I didn't—"

"Get used to it _right_ now, because we've got a job to do." Jaune rushed ahead, brandishing his pistol. "These people will _kill_ you without a problem, so if you hold back, you'll die." He didn't leave room for a response, running out deeper into the train station.

He jumped up onto a stray, flat train car. A few more White Fang ran further down, rushing through a spotlight's glare.

Breathe deep. Hole. Release.

His finger curled around the trigger—

A hail of bullets fell upon the faunus, and they dropped, completely limp and unmoving.

"What the? Who are they!?" Pyrrha pointed to the abandoned building Jaune had noticed earlier, where the hints of muzzle flashed flared up, where Mountain Glenn's militia must have posted up.

"No idea," Jaune lied. "Must be some scavengers or something taking the chance."

They heard another roar. This time, they also saw the source of it. Looking over, they saw a large, monstrous shape dash through a spotlight's illumination, charging through the train yard and pouncing on a group of terrified grunts running away.

"There they are!"

Jaune swore and ducked as a few bullets streaked by. Faunus with a few rifles and pistols ran out of a building nearby while they'd been distracted by Orion. He, Nora and Pyrrha were forced to take cover around a train car.

"I've got them!" Pyrrha said. She crouched down to look under their train car. She reached a hand out toward their enemies.

Jaune peeked around the corner of their cover, just in time to see a pile of rail beams beside the terrorists shudder. The long steel beams shook and rose into the air. The grunts noticed this too late, turning just in time to see the metal come their way. It impacted hard and picked them up off their feet, sending them crashing back into the old cement of a nearby building. They were smashed into a heap of twisted metal and broken bones.

Jaune patted her shoulder. "Good job."

His partner only nodded, but then they all winced at the grand blare of the train's horn. It sounded loud and dominating, overcoming even the spats of gunfire.

Looking back around his cover, Jaune saw one of the trains shudder. White Fang grunts ran towards it and jumped on; he even saw Roman Torchwick hop on, firing back with his cane. Given the direction of the roars, the thief must have been trying to suppress Orion.

"Damn it!" He stomped on the ground, cracking the stone floor in his rage. "They're getting away!"

"And where is Ren!" Nora said, panic edging back into her voice.

A few bullets pinged near them, forcing the trio back into cover. He looked under the train car and saw a couple more grunts coming their way, rifles raised. He was about to ask Pyrrha to work her magic, when—

A streak of green flew out of nowhere, coming up behind the faunus, jumping in the air and simultaneously kicking them both in the head. They were sent sprawling, unconscious, to the floor.

"Yes!" Nora cheered. She immediately broke cover and dashed out, so fast that she was barely a blur, kicking up dust and gravel with each step. She jumped the last few feet, nearly knocking over Ren as she pulled him into a massive hug.

"We're still in a warzone!" Jaune yelled after her. "Be careful, idiot!" His anger frothed from sheer concern, since he'd seen plenty of people get dropped while running around. He dropped plenty of them himself.

Ren dragged Nora near a wall as Jaune and Pyrrha ran after them (after first checking around to make sure that no more enemies were visible).

Nora still hadn't let go of her partner as Qrow came up and joined them. He smiled and said, "told you I'd get him."

"I'm so glad you're okay," Nora said, sounding on the verge of tears.

"I'm alright," Ren said. He placed a hand on her shoulder, and a odd grey color settled on her. She immediately stopped shaking, and her breathing leveled out.

"You sure?" Jaune asked. "They didn't hurt you too bad?" He touched one hand against the pocket inside his jacket. The pocket that held his remaining two stimpaks.

Ren nodded, and look at that, Jaune realize he had a nasty bruise on his forehead. "I'm a bit beat up, but nothing too serious."

Jaune's hand dropped. Stimpaks were for absolute emergencies only.

"Alright, all very heartwarming," Qrow said. "But that train is gonna get away if we let this reunion go on too long. And I saw a nasty Grimm over there, looked like the thing that took Jaune."

"Then we should avoid it," Jaune quickly said. "What about the train?"

They looked up, and sure enough, the train had gained up some speed and was heading out into a tunnel. A tunnel with a big sign on top marked: _Vale_

"They're headed for the city," Pyrrha said.

"A train full of dust and terrorists," Jaune said. "Lets got on there and take care of anybody who gets in our way."

Another bout of screams sounded not too far away, accompanied by a barrage of gunfire. Not only that, but a couple of the stolen prototype paladins charged away from the train and toward the source of the roaring and gunfire.

"And I think it might be best to get out of here," Ren said. "Before more Grimm come in."

"Can't agree more," Jaune said. Let's get out before you learn any more about Orion and the militia. Without giving the others time to argue or reconsider, he ran for the train, forcing them to follow.

He remained vigilant, looking left, right and center as he progressed, but it seemed that now all their foes were either on the train or distracted by Orion and the survivors.

The train's massive bulk gained momentum. It had gone from a lurch, to a trundle to now a smoother push, getting faster with each second. If he'd still been on Earth, Jaune may not have made it. But now he could temporarily tap into a burst of speed that rivaled even the Olympian sprinters of old.

He and the others charged, catching up with the train just as it fully got into the tunnel. He leapt up and grabbed onto the rail of the caboose, with the others hopping up and grabbing on as well.

Once he had a grip and hauled himself up, he looked back. The mouth of the tunnel grew smaller and smaller as the train quickened to max speed, and the entrance to the tunnel shrunk to nothingness as they were wrapped up by the dark cement walls of the subway. He could only hope that Orion and the others would take care of those robots and however many terrorists were left.

"Alright," Qrow said, panting and recovering from their sprint. He peeked through a window and into the cabin. "It looks like this car has just a ton of crates in it."

"Must be packed full of dust," Pyrrha said. "Like those other big containers were."

"But why?" Nora said.

"You saw how they blew up," Jaune said. "A whole train full of dust will make a hell of boom."

"Gods." Qrow wore a worried scowl. "We're basically riding one giant bomb."

"A bomb that'll go off just under Vale," Ren said. Despite his normally calm demeanor, he gulped nervously.

They were silent for a second, the gravity of the situation falling upon them, snuffing out their spirit for a moment.

"Let's go on top," Jaune said. "If we do, they might not be expecting us, and we can just shoot down at the connectors as we go and break up the train."

With no dissent, they climbed up.

Once he got on top, the wind and noise were even more intense. It sounded like a constant, distant scream scraped along all around him, pushing against him, hating him. It whipped his hair and his jacket. A mean spirit.

"Alright!" he yelled over the wind. "Let's get going!"

"Um, what is that?" Nora yelled, pointing at something embedded into the roof of the train.

Jaune ran by and looked down at what Nora had pointed out. He narrowed his eyes, seeing a metal tube wrapped in a mess of wires and buttons and…

Ah shit.

"This is a bomb!" he yelled to the others.

"What!? Are you sure?" Pyrrha asked.

"I've seen plenty, so yeah," he said. He crouched down by the bomb. It was fairly small, but easily enough to ignite the rest of the dust in the train car. His eyes roved its wires.

"I don't think you should mess with that," Qrow said. He placed a hand on Jaune's shoulder. "Let's just detach the car—"

"No, I know what I'm doing," Jaune said. He focused on the bomb and how it all fit together. "I've dealt with bombs before. Used to defuse mines and IED's all the time. "

Finally, that awful trek through mine-town and all the wasteland's innumerable booby traps were actually helping.

"This setup is pretty simple and open; they must not have thought anybody would be up here to try and defuse it."

He was tracing a few wires with the tip of his finger before they all heard a loud _CLANK_ and the car below them shuddered.

What was that?

"They detached the car!"

"Damn it," Jaune swore under his breath. He looked up and saw that their car was slowly falling backing away from the rest of the train, no longer powered.

"Run!" Qrow yelled, and the others didn't need to be told twice.

They sprinted for dear life, then leapt across the widening gap between them and survival. Jaune was the last to go, following behind the others. His muscles clenched as he launched off and was in the air for a moment, the wind rushing around him and the train tracks rushing by below like an angry, metal river.

He reached out and grabbed hold of the edge of the next car's roof, the rest of his body flopping down and smacking the side of the car. Ren grabbed his sleeve and hauled him up.

Mere moments later, the train car that had drifted away—exploded.

The force of it in the tunnel deafened them and blew them all of their feet with a wash of heat from the fire dust and god knows what else. Jaune landed face-first on the car, slapping his cheek against the sheer steel. He heard only a painful ring, and it felt like sharp nails had been hammered into his ears. It was only because of his aura that his eardrums hadn't ruptured and turned to mush.

He groveled on the car, cradling his head with his hands, squeezing his eyes shut and wishing that the pain in his ears would go away. He only dimly registered the crashing of rock and the shouts of his team.

As his hearing cleared up again, another cacophony arose:

Monsters. A rage of howls, hisses and roars ascended.

"Grimm!" Pyrrha said.

When he finally looked back, Jaune's eyes widened at the sight of red flashes in the dark tunnel behind them, the menacing eyes of Remnant's monsters.

"They're leading Grimm into the city!" Qrow said. "Gods damn it!"

Jaune grit his teeth and forced himself to stand. He suffered some vertigo as he tried to right himself on the shaky train, still without all his bearings after that blast.

"This one's rigged too!" Nora said, pointing to another bomb identical to the one on the last car.

"Damn it!" Jaune rushed for it, sliding to his knees to reach it and crouch over.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

He narrowed his eyes and focused on the bomb, observing the wires and buttons. It was just a matter of finding the connection between—

"We got baddies!" Nora said, pointing ahead to many White Fang grunts who'd climbed up on top a train car further ahead.

"Take care of them!" Jaune said. "I'm gonna take care of this bomb!"

"You sure you can—"

"Go!"

The others, even if they weren't entirely convinced of his ability to defuse a bomb, decided that beating down the bad guys would still be a good plan.

So they rushed forward and engaged the grunts who dared to oppose them. They did so non-lethally, breaking bones and incapacitating their foes. Well, his teammates did. Qrow wasn't afraid to get in a fatal slash here and there to force corpses to the ground, no longer a threat.

Meanwhile, Jaune focused on the bomb. A part of him thought about just ripping it out, since it was bolted into the roof of the train. But he didn't know how sensitive the material inside was, and any rough handling could cause it to go off early.

So he traced the wires, carefully, eyeing what hooked up to what. All the while, he heard the screams and howls of Grimm further down the tunnel and the clash of battle just up ahead. He eyed a few wires screwed into the side of the main fuse, wires which may be the main signal—

Then the car below him jolted and shuddered. It had been detached as well. The bomb itself let out a high-pitched whine.

Alright. Fuck it.

He held his breath, grabbed the wires, closed his eyes and tugged.

The fact that he wasn't immediately obliterated in an immense explosion, well, it made him quite relieved. Not only that, but the bomb's whine immediately ceased.

But he was hardly in the clear. He immediately pounced up and dashed as fast as he could, feet pounding hard against the steel roof. The car was already a few feet away from the rest of the train, but by the time he reached the edge, he kicked off and jumped and—

Just barely landed on the other side, stumbling forward and continuing his momentum. Looking ahead, he saw his team had already smashed most of the faunus who'd charged ahead to meet them. He looked back at the departing car, covering his ears and squinting in case he'd failed.

But the car fell back and away into the darkness. Moments went by, longer than the last car had taken to explode.

He smiled.

"I did it!" he yelled. "I did it!"

"Awesome!" Nora screamed back. She did so as she swiped her hammer into the head of the last standing grunt, soundly knocking him out and probably giving him brain damage to boot.

Jaune wasted no time running to the next bomb on the car and ripping out the same two wires. Then when they jumped off of that car as well, it detached and trundled back into the tunnel, simply disappearing into the dark. No new explosion.

"Good stuff," Qrow said. He placed one boot on the back of an unconscious grunt and looked further down the train, to where more enemies were already clambering on top. "You three twerps go down below, make a distraction. Then Jaune and I can stay up here and try to defuse the bombs."

"Sounds good."

"Will do."

"We'll bash 'em!"

Pyrrha swiped sword and cut an 'x' into the roof of the train car. Then she extended her hand, which was quickly wreathed in the shadow of her polarity. The roof was peeled back, opening up a hole into the train.

"Good luck," Jaune said, "and give 'em hell."

His teammates jumped down into the train, weapons brandished and prepared to take down any of these moronic terrorists who crossed their path.

"Alright," Qrow said. He looked down the length of the train, at the approaching squad of White Fang grunts. "No more mister nice huntsman."

Jaune grunted and drew the Mysterious Magnum. Qrow's plan made sense strategically, but now he realized it would allow the team to fight in their two different styles without clashing with one another. He and Qrow wouldn't have to hold back, and the others wouldn't be distracted or disturbed by whatever they did.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

He focused closely, even though the wind whipped around him and the train shook beneath him. He steadied his aim. And he fired.

The heavy magnum rounds tore through them. Qrow fired from his sword as well. Combined, they ripped apart the White Fang who had guns, their blood and guts splattering across the train car as bullets meant for Grimm tore them apart with ease.

Jaune holstered his pistol and rushed forward to meet them head on. He drew Crocea Mors and pulled back on the trigger. His cruel sword screamed as he revved it, its little teeth rattling and running in a blur. The sword itself had a sturdy steel frame, but the chain and teeth were something special: duraframe. A material perfected by the Enclave back on earth for only advanced power armor and energy weapons, forged in the fire of a radioactive engine and blasted with enough chemicals to make sure it didn't give anybody cancer afterwards.

Duraframe was a dark, vicious black; it matched in hue the skin or scale of any Grimm.

But now, Jaune didn't use it against Grimm. He used it against people, and he ripped them apart.

The first man who charged him, he knocked his sword away with a single strong swing, overpowering his facile, aura-less strength easily. Then he slid Crocea Mors down against his hand.

The man screamed and drooped his weapon as the chainsword tore off a few of his fingers. He stopped screaming when Jaune stepped forward and brought Crocea Mors up into his throat.

Blood sprayed back and drenched the Lone Wanderer's face. He had to screw his eyes shut and press his lips closed. But it was too late. He tasted iron on the tip of his tongue, and his eyes became bleary with the foreign liquid.

His stab had torn the man's neck open to the point of near beheading, and the mauled corpse collapsed to the ground before him. Meanwhile, Jaune spat out the blood and idly noted he'd have to deal with getting a mask or goggles or something. That's what he'd used back in the wasteland, and getting it all in his face and eyes like this was simply inconvenient.

For now, he scowled at the next few idiots who faced him. They stepped back hesitantly, clearly shaken by the horrific display of their comrade. But besides being idiots, they must also have been true zealots, the only kind of people who'd actually be willing to hop onto a train that was going to ram into the middle of Vale, then themselves be in the middle of a massacre of Grimm.

They stood their ground—somewhat bravely, somewhat stupidly—as he charged them.

He swung at one, bashing aside their guard with his inhuman strength. He pivoted and swung back, striking them in the face with Crocea Moras. The chainsword ripped through their head without really stopping, cutting as much as it was bludgeoning. A spray of flesh, brain and chewed bone flew out onto the other grunts, who suddenly became less brave.

It was too late for them.

He charged forward and, with a single horizontal slash, gutted the nearest grunt. He pushed them aside and stabbed Crocea Mors into the next unfortunate girl close to him, tearing through her sternum and spraying blood and shreddy bone everywhere as he drove the revving chainsaw straight through her chest and out her back. Her body collapsed, already dead, and he had to jerk his sword up out of her, sawing through more flesh as he did so.

He wiped the blood from his eyes and affirmed his need for some goggles or glasses or something. He'd have to go on a shopping trip when this was done… maybe he could go with Ruby? Get something to eat? Make a date of it?

He slapped away his last foe's cleaver and brought Crocea Mors down in a vicious arc, biting into the shoulder of his next enemy. Then he grabbed the hilt with both hands and pushed down. The revving duraframe chain and his great strength resulted in him tearing down through the woman's collarbone, diagonally through her ribs and then out above her hip. She'd been sawed in half.

And yeah, a date like that would be a good idea.

The Lone Wanderer looked up and snarled at the remaining terrorists, about a dozen or so that had just run up. The trash kept coming

He knelt and defused the bomb for this car, then headed for the next.

He charged at the next enemy and, with a single swipe, cut through their hands. They screamed, but Jaune closed his eyes as he brought Crocea Mors up into their chin and kept it going—sawing their face in half.

He opened his eyes again and blinked a few times to clear up his vision. The body collapsed before him. There were more grunts ahead, of course, though none of them bothered to charge in. Some even looked over their shoulders, as if daring to run away.

That's when Qrow came up beside him, some blood on his clothes and the blade of his scythe. "You go right, I go left?" he asked.

Jaune nodded. "Sounds good to me."

Without another word, they charged. These last few terrorists must have been pretty brave, stupid or brainwashed (or some mix thereof) to stand their ground as a man covered in blood with a chainsaw attacked them, side by side with a man wielding a huge scythe.

They didn't last long.

Jaune slashed left, right and center. They didn't stand a chance. He ripped them apart, spilling out blood, shards of bone and chunks of flesh and skin. Qrow was relatively cleaner, swinging his scythe in precise strikes that struck at the enemies' arteries and crucial weaknesses. With a single swing, he beheaded two terrorists at once. With a single swing, Jaune smashed through one terrorists head, then continued the momentum and lodged Crocea Mors into the neck of the one just beside him.

A few minutes, and the bloodbath was complete.

But things weren't over yet.

Jaune knelt down and tugged out the wires for the bomb on that car, but he looked up when Qrow swore. What he saw made him swear too.

Two of the prototype Atlas mechs jumped up onto the train car. They were smaller than the monster that RWBY had fought on the freeway, but they still stood twice as tall as Jaune, and their bulky mechanical arms promised bone-crushing pain.

"I'll go left."

"I'll go right."

They advanced, and the mechs did the same. Jaune sheathed Crocea Mors and pulled out the Magnum, quickly slipping in more bullets as the great mech neared.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

He slammed the revolver's cylinder back into place just in time to drop to the ground, sliding under a great swing by the mech's arm. He rolled between its legs, narrowly dodging a few stomps that dented the steel train car beneath them with huge pounds, sounding like a car crash.

Then he hopped up onto one leg of the mech and pressed the revolver against the back of its knee joint. He fired.

Point blank, he pumped monstrous bullet after bullet into the unarmored chink of the mech's armor. The bullets ripped into its leg with the quick shrieks of tearing metal, and the joint immediately flared out sparks and small arcs of fried electricity as wires in the joint were annihilated—

Then one arm swept down and bashed him in the side.

He'd kept his aura on guard, but nevertheless, the momentum behind that metal titan's strike nearly fractured his ribs and definitely knocked the air out of him. He let go and flew off of the mech, tumbling to the ground.

Jaune fought through the pain and lack of oxygen to sit up, and then he smiled. The mech tried to lumber after him, but the moment it took a step with the leg he'd attacked, its knee buckled, and the whole robot tottered for a precarious moment like an amateur tight-rope performer, before it fell face forward with a heavy crash.

Jaune allowed himself a few deep breaths to recover from the nasty punch, before he hauled himself to his feet and ran forward. He holstered his pistol and drew Crocea Mors.

The mech placed its arms against the ground and tried to push itself up, leaving its arms busy; and it the pilot was too slow to react as Jaune launched himself toward it, revving the chainsword as he did so.

He swung and smashed Crocea Mors's screaming edge against a hinge to the cockpit. He kept the sword pressed against the armor, and the hungry duraframe teeth quickly sawed through the comparatively meek steel.

He ducked back just in time to avoid a desperate swipe by the mech, but then jumped right back in, hooked a hand into the rent torn by Crocea Mors and pulled.

His superhuman muscles strained as he focused his aura on the task and hauled back the cockpit with all his might. Shortly, the it gave. With a _crack_ , the metal he'd sawed split and broke, leaving the pilot exposed.

"Oh gods please!" The pilot held up his hands in immediate surrender. "I don't—"

Jaune revved Crocea Mors and plunged the chainsword right into the cockpit. Its tip collided with the top of the man's skull and split his head open like an overripe tomato.

He stepped back, now covered in even more blood. All-in-all, he was quite drenched, and the outfit that had earlier won Ruby's approval was now thoroughly ruined.

He looked over and saw Qrow finish off his own mech. He'd apparently cut off portions of each arm, leaving him clear to jump right on top of it, transforming his scythe back into a sword and then stabbing right down into the cockpit. He hopped off the mech as it fell backward and tumbled off the train, crashing with horrendously loud and ear-piercing squeals and crushes as metal and some more… organic material was ripped apart by the track and wheels below.

"Alright," Qrow said. "Let's hope they don't have any more."

"Don't jinx us," Jaune said as he knelt and defused that car's bomb.

Two more mechs jumped up onto the train.

"Welp." Jaune sighed, then brandished Crocea Mors before him. He'd blown the remaining ammo for the magnum on the last robot, so—

Both mechs stopped advancing. They shuddered. They tried to step forward, but each swayed and jolted back and forth as if they were being tugged around, as if they were drunk sailors on the deck.

After a second, Jaune realized they were covered in an odd shadow.

Each wobbled and tripped toward either side of the train, struggling to stay on their feet. They stumbled to the sides and each fell over, tumbling off of the train and onto the tracks below, doomed to destruction as they rolled and crashed down the tunnel.

"Hello!" Pyrrha called, poking her head up above the end of car.

"Yeah!" Jaune laughed and ran forward. "That's my partner!"

Pyrrha smiled as he jumped off the train's roof and onto the flat-bed car she stood on. It was here that the few mechs had been stored. Now they were all trash left behind.

"Nice save," Jaune said, giving her a high-five.

"Of course," Pyrrha said. Her smile wavered however, when she looked down at her hand.

"Baddies are gone and out," Nora proudly proclaimed, walking out of the train car with Ren closely following. "There were a bunch, but now they're taking a lot of nice naps."

Qrow hopped down, and now all five were reunited.

"Jaune," Pyrrha said. When he looked over, he saw a distraught and somewhat afraid look on her face. She looked at her hand, then at him—

Jaune realized she'd noticed he was covered in blood. He'd smeared some on her fingers.

"You're—"

"Things got rough," the Lone Wanderer said, cutting her off. "It happens."

"Gods, Jaune you…

" Nora trailed off now as well, not wanting to bring up his grizzly appearance.

Qrow had some blood on him as well, but not nearly as much as one gets when using a chainsaw to eviscerate the enemy at close range.

Something cut through the awkwardness: a heavy, metallic _clank_. The hinge connecting the train car to the flatbed unlatched, and the last car lost momentum as its wheels slowed, and it drifted back down the tunnel.

"I defused it all," Jaune reported, happy to change the topic.

"The White Fang we left behind—"

"Made their choice," the Wanderer said, cutting Pyrrha off again. His voice was sharp and left no tolerance for pity.

"Alright, alright," Qrow interjected. He stepped in between Jaune and the others. "We need to focus on the mission: get to the front of the train and stop this."

"What about all the Grimm behind us?" Ren asked.

"Subways always have side exits and—oh shit!"

Jaune swore at the last moment, for he'd seen out the corner of his eye the door open from the train car on the other side of the flatbeds. Out came a terrorist with an rpg. He hefted the rocket launcher on one shoulder and fired.

They all ducked, but the rocket passed well above them. Instead, it streaked down further into the tunnel, where it collided with the train car that had just detached.

Jaune had just enough time to realize this and cover his ears before another titanic explosion tore open and shook the entire tunnel, forcing it bright as day for a moment as its flash of power erupted, then rolled off with a blast of thunder and cracking, collapsing stone.

"Damn it!" Qrow yelled. He grit his teeth and drew his sword, staring down the terrorist. "Won't do you any good, pal. We've defused enough bombs that not nearly as many Grimm as you want will actually make it into the city!"

"Maybe," the terrorist said. He dropped the spent launcher, then reached behind his back. "But the fear will still thrive." He swung out and brandished an immense chainsaw.

"Indeed," said a voice behind him, one which JNPR immediately recognized. A deep voice warped through a gas mask. "You degenerates won't stop us this time," Art said, coming up beside the terrorist with his sledgehammer in hand.

"We'll see about that," Pyrrha said, wearing a defiant scowl. She reached out both hands, and the weapons of their foes were immediately wreathed in her polarity's shadow. She swiped her arms away, and both chainsaw and hammer were immediately wrenched out of their enemies' hands, thrown off the train altogether.

Art and the terrorist looked shocked.

Qrow laughed. "Good going kid. You three take care of them, and me and Jaune'll stop this train."

"Scum!" Art yelled, brandishing his fists. "If you think we're going to be easy—"

He ducked as Pyrrha hurled her shield at him. He dodged it on the first past, but her polarity commanded it come right back. It struck him in the back of the head, nearly knocking him over, before it flew back to her hand.

"You two get going," she said.

Qrow and Jaune didn't wait a moment longer, rushing ahead past the two as Nora, Ren and Pyrrha engaged them. As they dashed into the next train car, Jaune glanced back. He saw Art kick Pyrrha's shield with enough force that she stumbled back, allowing him to catch Magnhild by the hilt, stopping a swing from Nora, and he redirected her momentum to throw her aside.

Even unarmed, he and the terrorist would be able to hold off the rest of JNPR for a little while.

Jaune growled. Best make this quick then.

The door closed behind them, leaving him and Qrow in a largely empty car. It must have been packed with the grunts they'd now dispatched.

"Alright," Qrow said, "stay careful."

Jaune nodded and jogged ahead, finger on Crocea Mors's trigger.

The whole train car hitched; something must have been wrong with the track, for the train jolted for just a moment. This was enough to make an unused pipe leaning against the wall shudder. It wobbled for a moment, then fell forward. It swung down through empty space.

But then it hit something.

It smacked right on top of apparently empty air, flashing as if it had contacted with aura.

What the…?

While Jaune stopped, confused, Qrow rushed ahead and cut his sword through the air.

It hit against something solid, something invisible.

Jaune's eyes widened as light flashed and reality itself seemed to crack. Fractures formed in the air, then fell apart and fizzled away like pieces of evaporating glass. This revealed a new figure, a short girl colored pink, brown and vanilla. She held aloft a parasol, which was apparently strong enough to block the strike from Qrow.

"Heh, tough luck," Qrow said to her, grinning cockily.

She scowled, then hopped away and patted her head where the pipe had unexpectedly smacked her. She tutted, then her scowl turned into a smile as she twirled the parasol and brandished it.

Jaune wondered what kind of double-weapon that umbrella was. A bazooka? Another chainsaw? A flamethrower? Who the hell knew; all he could do was raise Crocea Mors in anticipation.

"Steve, get going," Qrow told him. "This one's bad news, but I'll put her down. You stop the train."

Jaune nodded and rushed past. The girl—who he knew to be the assassin, Neopolitan—stepped aside and let him go. He backed off for a moment, hesitant at such a withdrawl. She only glanced his way and smirked.

She didn't seem concerned by letting him by. Did she not think he'd be able to succeed against whatever was up ahead?

He didn't think anymore, as Qrow rushed forward to engage her. She immediately flipped up through the air, evading his strike, as agile and acrobatic as a flea.

Jaune turned away from the battle and ran out of the train, into the next. He trusted Qrow to take care of her, and he trusted himself to take care of whatever trash was up ahead…

Unless there was another gas mask. Orion had mentioned two, and if the second one was as skilled as Art… and they still hadn't run into Torchwick, had they?

Damn it.

He considered turning back to regroup with the others… but he could at least tie down the people up ahead, maybe rush the control panel, damage it and then run away? Or maybe the new gas mask would be a pushover? The rest of JNPR would surely be able to take those to unarmed…

No time to be hesitant.

He pressed forward, running through another empty train car, then emerging into a new one, dimly lit and vacant.

Then he ducked as a cane swiped at his head from the side.

Alright, not so vacant.

He dropped to the ground and rolled away, getting clear of the new attacker who'd been waiting beside the door. He hopped back up to his feet and snarled.

"Well if it isn't that psychopathic Vacuan rat again," said Roman Torchwick. He twirled his cane in his hand and smirked. "We meet yet—"

The Lone Wanderer charged him, not waiting for the smarmy bastard's annoying voice to finish that sentence. The thief fell back to avoid the flurry of slashes.

Last time they'd met, Jaune had been recovering from being knocked out, and he hadn't had as much training. Now, he was still sleep-deprived, but his aura was still in the green (though the mech had taken a good chunk) and he was a deadlier fighter than he'd ever been.

The Wanderer bared his teeth and attacked. This guy was no different than all the other slimy low-lives back on Earth, and he'd rip him to shreds just like he had all of them.

He revved Crocea Mors to its full scream and slashed at Torchwick ceaselessly. The thief, on his part, managed to deflect every strike Jaune threw at him, but he was barely able to do that much. He kept pace with the onslaught, steadily forced to step backwards as Jaune gained momentum.

He wasn't able to break Torchwick's defense, but the man's cocky grin quickly slipped as the barrage was laid into him.

Torchwick struck out at Crocea Mors with the back end of his cane's hook, and the curve angled away the chainsword, allowing him to sidestep Jaune and get around him. He twirled Melodic Cudgel then and cracked it hard into his cheek.

The Lone Wanderer's head snapped to the side—then immediately turned back, a mean snarl on his face.

He ducked down and hurled his shoulder into Torchwick's chest, driving through and smashing the thief into the wall of the train so hard that the steel behind him dented and warped. Torchwick gasped for air and his hat fell off onto the floor.

Jaune pulled back, face stinging from the hearty strike, even through his aura. He pulled Crocea Mors up in front of him and jammed it towards the thief, who was barely able to pull up his cane in time to block it.

The Wanderer pressed the whirring duraframe chain against Melodic Cudgel, and immediately a harsh, high-pitched squeal of grinding metal filled the cabin as sparks flew between the two.

Jaune gripped one hand on Melodic Cudgel to keep the weapon in place as he angled Crocea Mors towards Torchwick's head.

The thief grit his teeth and kicked out. In this situation, back against the wall, it would be a game of footwork that decided who won. His face reddened from effort and anxiety, as a chainsaw whirred mere inches before his eyes. He kicked out his feet against Jaune's shins, stomped on his toes, tried to get the right footing to twist his hips and escape.

He spat in Jaune's eyes, but Jaune just spat right back.

Crocea Mors grinded against Melodic Cudgel, and wisps of smoke curled out from the point of contact.

Roman narrowed his eyes. He brought one leg up and kneed Jaune in the groin, only to hit a tough guard.

Please, as if he'd be stupid enough not to wear a cup—

But then Roman twisted his leg and locked it around Jaune's own, then pivoted his hips and threw them both over.

They tumbled to the floor and Roman rolled away, quickly springing up and catching his breath for a moment before Jaune threw himself back onto his feet and snarled.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

Jaune charged again and unleashed a flurry of attacks. Again, Torchwick managed to keep pace and deflect them. Melodic Cudgel was covered in scrapes and scratched by the duraframe, which proved its mettle and bit at everything it touched, trying its best to kill and destroy whatever it could.

Torchwick sidestepped him and managed to strike out with Melodic Cudgel fast enough to hit it lightly across Jaune's face, obscuring his vision. This gave him the chance to kick at the back of Jaune's legs, throwing him off-balance to let Torchwick get the upper hand. He grabbed cane his cane with both hands and brought down in rapid strikes strong enough to smash bricks, cracking Jaune's skull with it several time before he dodged away, feeling slightly dizzy after being treated like a human whack-a-mole.

He didn't let it faze him; instead, the Lone Wanderer snarled again and stabbed out at his enemy.

But then Torchwick caught him off guard. He stepped to the side and let Crocea Mors strike him in the chest, gasping as the steel flashed against his aura and tore at his clothes.

Jaune's eyes widened as he realized the plan.

Torchwick whipped his cane at Jaune wristed and pushed it aside, beating the chainsword away. Then he stepped into Jaune's guard and brought one knee up as he hooked his cane around Jaune's wrist and dragged Crocea Mors down.

He kneed the hilt of Crocea Mors as he hauled in Jaune's wrist. The opposite momentum and the precisions of the strike sent the chainsword flying out of Jaune's hand.

The thief grinned, his sacrificial gambit having paid off.

His eyes widened when the Wanderer leaned up and bit down to get a mouthful of orange hair in his teeth. He jerked his head back and painfully dragged Torchwick's head along with him, causing them both to stumble and fall in a grappling match.

So close now, Torchwick was actually at the disadvantage by being armed, since Melodic Cudgel was too long to be effectively used in such close quarters. He tried to push back, but Jaune savagely kept a mouthful of his hair and took the opportunity jam short punches into Torchwwick's ribs.

They were stuck, a confusing mess on the ground, until Torchwick let go of Melodic Cudgel just so he could get up one hand into the Wanderer's face and drive his thumb into his eye.

That finally managed to make him let go of his bite on the hair, allowing Torchwick to push back and sit up. Disoriented, he took just a second to catch his breath.

That second proved crucial, as Jaune launched out and grabbed Torchwick by the collar, then dragged him in for a powerful headbutt, cracking his forehead against Torchwick's nose.

The thief yelled out and tried to pull back, but this confusion let Jaune get his feet under him, and he stood up.

He carried Torchwick with him.

Still holding onto him by the collar, Jaune hauled the criminal into the air, then he twisted and slung him over his shoulder—

Then threw Torchwick back onto the ground, head-first. His skull cracked against the floor, and he crumpled on the ground.

Jaune darted for Crocea Mors, while Torchwick had just enough sense to groggily cradle his bruised head. He panicked at the sound of a revving chainsword.

Torchwick's adrenaline drove him back into action, and he dove for his cane and picked it up just in time to raise it over his head with both hands and block a downward swing from the Lone Wanderer.

But the Wanderer had a smile on his face.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

He exhaled as he brought the sword down, aiming for the exact spot on Melodic Cudgel where earlier he'd been sawing. There was a noticeable and not insignificant notch born into the cane from the duraframe chain's vicious teeth.

Crocea Mors hit the weak point dead on, and Melodic Cudgel buckled.

The cane bent inward, forming nearly a right angle as it collapsed before the superhuman strike. Roman's eyes widened, and he rolled back to disengage.

He sprung up and ran for the end of the train car, to the door marked: _cabin._

He hammered his fist against it and yelled, "Hey Commander, could use some help!"

That was all he managed to say before Jaune was upon him again.

Jaune swung hard, and Torchwick tried to swipe his cane to deflect it like he had before. But the odd angle that the cane was bent at made that impossible, instead throwing Roman himself off balance. Jaune brought the chainsword down on the man's hands, forcing him to cry out and drop his weapon.

Game's over now, asshole.

He brought the sword back up to Torchwick's face, but he narrowly dodged back. He pressed with the initiative, however, and stepped into his guard. As he did so, Jaune brought back one hand, raising it into a fist. He pivoted on his hips and thrashed his knuckles into Torchwick's cheek with all the strength he could muster.

The thief cried out and spun away, sprawling to the floor.

The Lone Wanderer prepared for the kill.

He swung Crocea Mors across and hit Torchwick in the face just as the man looked up at him. The angry sword collided with his aura and partially tore through it, biting into the man's skin with several teeth scratching his face. The blunt force of the hit flung him back to the cabin door, which he hit and then collapsed to the floor, aura close to spent.

Jaune brought his sword back and revved it, ready to charge in again—

The door behind Torchwick slid open, and Jaune stopped as a new enemy entered the fray.

There stood a man in a gas mask. Clad in all black, the mysterious figure loomed tall and dark in the doorframe. Unmoving, he stared at Jaune with silent intensity.

"Oh. It's you."

The words, warped by the mask, sounded almost inhuman.

"Commander," Torchwick said. He panted and wiped some blood from his mouth. "This kid's a real pain."

"I know." He pointed back to the cabin. "Go help Perry with the controls."

Torchwick ducked his head and followed the order, dashing into the control room as the commander advance. The door shut, and then they were alone.

The Lone Wanderer eyed the Commander carefully, calculating. He brandished Crocea Mors.

He'd probably dropped to the upper yellow after taking a few brutal hits by Torchwick. Hopefully, this guy wasn't as bad as Art.

"This was inevitable," said the Commander. He brought one hand to the hilt of his sword.

Something about that voice, even if he didn't quite recognize it, sent a chill into Jaune. He felt goosebumps on the back of his neck. Something subconscious had been alerted.

"We're both creatures of war," said the Commander. "And we always fight for different sides. This was bound to happen sooner rather than later."

Jaune didn't respond. He kept his finger carefully over his chainsword's trigger, ready to rev. Something about what his opponent said unnerved him, even if he didn't quite understand it.

The Commander drew his sword. Coming out the scabbard, it hissed. A long, thin straight sword with one side sharp as a razor.

The blade was a dark, vicious black; it matched in hue the skin or scale of any Grimm.

Jaune stared at it.

That looks like—

The Commander flicked a switch at the hilt. A crimson light flashed at the sword's cross-guard; then a cruel line of blood-red fire swept up along the blade, drenching the dim cabin in a brutal glow.

Jaune's eyes widened. His breathing stopped. Suddenly, a horrendous and immense weight came in all around him, as if he was crushed in a giant fist, and now it squeezed and squeezed and squeezed—

Crocea Mors's chains rattled, for his hands shook.

No. Please god no.

The Commander reached his free hand up to his mask. He pulled free a few clasps, then tugged off his helmet.

A head of pure blonde hair. Two bright blue eyes. A handsome, slim face. A big, friendly smile.

"I've been waiting for this day," said Bishop Beauvais.

* * *

 **And I've been waiting to write this moment for _so_ long. Seriously, I've had that line figured out almost since I started writing this fic. **

**And man, I really hope that people actually like Bishop's presence. Like, he's the villain and you're supposed to hate him, but I hope readers hate him for the right reasons, the way you're supposed to hate a good villain. I dunno, but people don't always like oc's. I hope I haven't built him up all this time only for people to just not care about him or think he's a dumb character and not like him because of that. I'm personally pretty proud of how I've built him up. There are many reasons for why I included Bishop, which I'll get into next chapter.**

 **Tune in next time, when we see the world through the eyes of a monster.**


	36. Chapter 36

**Man… I started this story two years ago. Crazy how time has gone by. I've changed so much since then, and so has the fic. Shout out to any long-time readers!**

 **Some have said that Bishop's appearance was predictable; that was the point. It was supposed to be obvious since chapter 1 that Bishop would appear, and I think I was pretty clear in the last few chapters that it would be here at Mt. Glenn. I just don't think I can hold it off even longer, after 300,000 words with the main antagonist still not directly seen, and what happens next fits well with Volume 3. I like writing with dramatic irony, where the audience knows well in advance that some things are going to happen while the characters are still oblivious. I think it builds a lot more expectation and tension. I wanted the reader to go through all of chapter 35 knowing that Bishop would be at the end. I just hope that I can pull off Bishop well now. I think you'll quickly realize that he's different from what we've seen thus far, which is mostly the caricature Jaune knows from the battlefield and his dreams.**

 **Also, I've referred to Bishop's sword in the past as "Rubrum Mors" which is incorrect. Since I first brought it up, I've taken classes in latin and now know it should be "Rubra Mors", because the adjective has to agree with the gender of the noun, and 'death' in latin (mors) is a feminine noun so you have to use rubra not rubrum—latin is very particular about cases and endings depending on gender and use of the word. Another latin fun fact: Crocea Mors is supposed to be pronounced like "kro-kay-uh mors". That's because c's are always pronounced like k's in classical latin. That's why, in New Vegas, the Legion all pronounce Caesar like 'Kaisar'. It's actually closer to the original latin pronunciation. Also, v's are pronounced like w's in classical latin, so veni vidi vici should be said more like weni widi wiki.**

 **Another nerdy language RWBY tidbit that always bothered me was Weiss's name. I took German lessons for a few years, and her name is supposed to be pronounced in your standard German as "Vice Shnay". It was actually pretty jarring when I first watched the show.**

* * *

Bishop's face was carved into a vicious snarl as he spoke. Oh, he spoke with the same refined, all-American exact he'd been taught to speak, the carefully engineered Enclave dialect reminiscent of the old mid-Atlantic and southern breeds. And as he took off his helmet, he forced the muscles in his face to prop up that big fake smile of his, the one that had never shown in his eyes.

"I've been waiting for this day," he said as he threw his mask aside. And the anger which had supplanted his initial shock was joined by satisfaction as he saw Maxwell Noble stand before him.

It's times like these that make me glad I decided to use this stupid smile. Look at how pathetic and afraid he is. I hope he's had my smile burned into his nightmares ever since we last met.

God, that almost makes me happy.

I'll rip you to shreds, burn the chum that's left over and spit on your charred, unrecognizable remains; then it will all be better.

What Bishop actually said was more restrained: "It's been quite a while, Maxwell." He brandished Rubra Mors's scorching blade before him. "We never finished what we started back on Earth." He kept his smile propped up, even if he wanted to sneer and snarl; such behavior was improper.

But his heart trembled in his chest, and his hands imperceptibly shook. For this was the roach that had eluded his greatest efforts and ruined so much. Some bizarre amalgam of anxiety, worry, anticipation, rage and even fear flushed through his bloodstream.

And Maxwell now certainly has aura, and Bishop's physical advantage was still great—but would it be enough? A suffocating weight came on him—

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

Fear is the ruiner. To give to fear is to be weak.

Bishop does not give.

He allowed Maxwell not another second to collect himself. The shock of revealing his face had put him completely off guard, and Bishop planned on using that to his advantage. So, he focused and readied himself. As he exhaled, he launched forward.

Rubra Mors cut through the air almost as fast as a bullet. Superhuman muscles and perfect form drove the blade, flames flickering hungrily. It was all Maxwell could do to raise Crocea Mors to try and deflect it.

Crocea Mors. The sister sword to his own chosen weapon.

It doesn't belong to you, scum.

I'll take it off your corpse when this is done.

Bishop's flaming blade collided with its sibling, and a terrible crack rang out as duraframe struck duraframe, and Crocea Mors's chains rattled from the impact. Maxwell couldn't hope to stand up to such a strike. His form was already compromised, and Bishop had been stronger and faster than him by an order of magnitude even before he'd unlocked his aura.

His enemy jolted and stumbled, failing to deflect the attack and barely managing to hold it off, but Bishop stepped forward and followed through with the strike. He smashed the blade into Maxwell's guard, which caved completely; Crocea Mors slammed back into his foe's face and sent the bastard off his feet and flying back into the wall of the train car.

Maxwell had failed to stand up to the volatile strength of his attack.

Bishop's smile widened, real. His heart pumped with a renewed sense of optimism, hope and joy. He said something, part gloat and part personal satisfier: "My forced evolution still puts me a league above you!"

His voice, speaking in that velvety accent, swelled and threatened to break into a shout; normally, it was always a cool, nearly soft dialogue that projected a sense of control. Now, however, Bishop's tone threatened to boil up and over.

Maxwell's eyes widened, and he knew the truth in Bishop's words. Aura has a multiplicative effect, not an additive. Sure, everyone will be made stronger and faster, but not to the same degrees. Aura builds off of the individual's physical condition. A hunter who trained to be a runner would be much faster than one who focused on strength training; the latter would naturally have their strength multiplied and eclipse the former in power.

Bishop had been a paragon of physical ability well before coming to Remnant, comparable even to a seven-foot tall supermutant.

I'm the next step of humanity. The culmination of centuries of work from the greatest minds of the greatest country Earth had ever known. And you're dead, subhuman.

Bishop advanced relentlessly as Maxwell scrambled to his feet and desperately pulled back on his chainsword's trigger. Crocea Mors screamed violently, but the frightening sound didn't bother Bishop a bit. He knew where this fight would go.

He brought Rubra Mors down in quick slashes, batting aside Maxwell's guard easily; his opponent thwarted demise by constantly back up and trying to evade or deflect his strikes, rather than block any directly, completely on the defensive.

Maxwell desperately tried to keep a façade of focus on his face, and maybe some of it was real, the natural result of being engrossed in intense, life-or-death combat. But Bishop saw the fear in his eyes; he could almost taste it.

He drove Crocea Mors up, then redirected a cut downward, slicing into Maxwell's abdomen. His aura flashed and barely kept back the horrific strike, which sent him careening back. The subhuman's shirt smoke and charred where it had been struck.

Maxwell barely threw himself to his feet before Bishop was upon him again.

He slashed out and cut up along Maxwell's arm; his aura flashed but failed to completely keep back the incredibly strong force behind the incredibly sharp blade. Duraframe was one of the few materials that could take the full stress of Bishop's great power, power which Rubra Mors channeled exquisitely.

Maxwell grunted as a gash was torn up along his forearm. Skin charred as it went, shards of fire dust being left behind to form up many scorching blots of flame that burned and ate his clothing and his flesh.

Maxwell looked at it, and his face flashed with panic as he realized his arm was catching fire.

It had taken a while to reconfigure Rubra Mors to use fire dust instead of napalm, but god was it worth it.

Maxwell savagely—desperately—kicked out and hit Bishop's knee. His leg didn't budge, but it did give Maxwell some reverse momentum to launch himself back. He fell and rolled to the ground, smacking his arms against the floor of the train car and putting out some of the fire. He hopped back up just in time to block a strike from Rubra Mors—it again sent him flying.

But Bishop hesitated.

This was too easy. The bastard had to have a semblance, right? What was it? Was he pretending and drawing Bishop into a perfect spot to kill him? He's tricky.

As Maxwell arose, Bishop decided to put down caution and attack once more, taking care to be on guard against any strange or unpredictable movements or actions on his enemy's part.

None occurred.

Maxwell barely managed to stave off his attacks while retreating constantly, twisting and ducking away to not be backed up against the wall and doomed. Always the slippery opponent.

Alright then. Nothing special? Not yet.

Let me end this with something special of my own.

Bishop stepped back and held Rubra Mors aloft.

Breathe in.

His lungs swelled as he called upon the familiar training. Combat Breathing Control. VATS, as Maxwell knew it, was a technique developed by the US military and taught in some Vaults as a way to keep it alive after the apocalypse, so America's military quality would not be lost. It made sense that vault 101, which was designed to test the viability of a specific authoritarianism, would naturally have it for security; it was simply relabeled 'VATS' so credit could be passed on to Vault-Tec and, by extension, the overseer, whose power in vault 101 was absolute.

Outside of vault 101, only the Enclave and the Brotherhood of Steel were trained in the old ways of CBC.

It taught the soldier focus, discipline and control. All traits that Bishop had been molded for, strived for and attained over the course of his life. It would be natural then, that his semblance was an extension of this which he so embodied.

Hold.

As he held his breathe in that nearly meditative move, time slowed; well, at least according to his own perception.

His sclera instantly became bloodshot and a slight burning sensation, a discreet discomfort, formed behind his eyes. Time froze.

His senses focused and sharpened like a clear crystal growing into shape over millennia—except this occurred in an instant. Suddenly, he was able to observe and scrutinize this perfectly preserved still of existence. He saw every detail and his vision crystalized to perfection. He could zone in on any object and see the minute factors of it. All of this, while everything was utterly motionless.

Of course, he himself could not move either. His perception was liberated and brought into hyper focus, but his body was still left on the slow arc of average physics; his mind shot off on an astronomical tangent.

He took the moment to pick apart and consider Maxwell's stance. He already had excellent reflexes and predictive abilities, but with time stopped and his eyesight so focused, he calculated the exact ways that Maxwell's hips and feet were aligned, considered his possible moves and put together the perfect plan of action.

Then he looked inwards. This hyper focus also brought him closer to his own aura, his soul, in a way. That made sense, since this was his own semblance at work, and it was like a kind of super-meditation.

He touched upon his aura and the power it held, channeled greater strength to the exact muscles in his arms and legs that he would need for the attack, and he brought to bear greater spiritual energy near his hand, where he could unleash it into and then through Rubra Mors for a devastating strike.

To his mind, this moment of observation, contemplation and planning went on for at least a couple minutes. In reality, all of this lasted less than second.

Release.

Bishop surged forward inhumanly fast. All the incredible muscles and bones of his body worked in perfect concert to create an indomitable attack—instantly, he was upon Maxwell, and instantly, he broke back Maxwell's guard, and instantly, he pinned the old enemy against the wall.

Maxwell Noble survived barely, holding Crocea Mors's hilt in one hand and the blade in the other, using the inert chainsword as a desperate last defense against Rubra Mors. Bishop pushed against that, and Maxwell's arms shuddered with the immense exertion necessary to counteract Bishop's titanic strength. He'd hit Maxwell with all the power of a speeding semi-truck, and his foe stretched his muscles and his aura to the absolute limit trying to hold that back.

They both knew he couldn't keep it up.

Maxwell's face twisted in a ferocious, animalistic, furious snarl and he spat in Bishops's eyes.

Bishop didn't care. He smiled, because he was stronger, and he pressed his blade forward. Maxwell held Crocea Mors aloft horizontally, and Bishop had Rubra Mors vertically, blade angled toward his enemy's face face. Barely a few inches away.

"Weak," Bishop said. The word came through lips twisted into a huge, excited grin. This one was real. His hands shook from a mixture of exertion and elation. This was it. This was finally it. His heart felt like it was about to crack his ribs and tear through his flesh and out of his chest, so violently was it stammering and beating. This was the moment he'd waited for.

He pushed, and Maxwell's trembling arms gave way another inch. The light of Rubra Mors's flame fell upon his face, was reflected in his eyes; the fires themselves' leapt and flashed, coming closer and closer to scorching his skin.

And Bishop saw it. He saw it in his eyes. He saw fear. Panic. Despair. He saw the snarl melt into a frightened, desperate look. Maxwell Noble realized that he was going to die.

The look on his face was, to Bishop, narcotic. He loved it. All the pain and suffering that this moral degenerate has caused me is finally avenged in this moment—

He heard something behind him.

Bishop snapped his head to the side and saw none other than that other low-life, Neo, rushing through the door and into the cabin. She didn't look overly injured, not aside from a cut along her chin and a red part on her cheek, where she may have been punched.

A moment later, Bishop realized why she'd retreated.

The terrorist fool who ran around with a chainsaw was thrown through the door and landed with a tough thump. Following him, Arthur tumbled through and rolled on the floor—he at least had the dignity and skill to throw himself back up to his feet, panting heavily.

Rage burned in Bishop's stomach. This always happened. That son of a bitch always got out at the last second.

He turned back to Maxwell and saw now a light of hope in his foe's eyes, and that light enraged him all the more; he kept the smile on his face, but Bishop felt like screaming.

He pushed forward again, redoubling his efforts to jam Rubra Mors into his old enemy's head. Maxwell grunted and held back, just barely, as the flaming sword thrust forward and nearly touched his face—so close, his aura flared to keep the flame from burning his skin as the blade pressed against him. Crocea Mors shook in his trembling grasp, arms about to give—

Then Rubra Mors was cloaked in a dense shadow.

The sword jerked back, and it was only through Bishop's quick reflexes that the unexpected movement didn't send the weapon right back into his face. He dodged to the side but kept a hold on his sword, which apparently was trying to fly right out of his grasp.

He looked back to the doorway and saw Maxwell's partner, Pyrrha Nikos, with her hand outstretched, fingers coated in that same shadow.

Cinder had mentioned that she kept her semblance a strict secret due to her competing. Was the runt telekinetic?

Maxwell ran away toward his partner, who whipped her hand to the side.

Rubra Mors jerked to the side Nikos had apparently directed it to. Great pressure was exerted on the sword, as if a beowolf had clamped its jaws on the blade and was pulling back with all its might.

Bishop was stronger than any beowolf.

Nikos's eyes widened in surprise as he kept his grip on Rubra Mors. The sword rattled in his grasp, but he refused to let go. In fact, he fought back against the strength of her semblance, dragging the sword back in front of him and holding it in both hands.

The invisible grip which threatened to steal his prized weapon wouldn't win.

My father gave me this sword, you bitch.

But then the others came. Nora Valkyrie. Lie Ren. Qrow Branwen. Bishop knew them all, having been informed of Maxwell's allies by Cinder. Part of their working relationship involved her passing on information about his most hated enemy.

Bishop kept up his smile, but behind those lying lips, his teeth were grinding together furiously. This bastard always managed to weasel his way away from death. He found people who were strong enough to keep him safe, and they could always swoop in to save him, even dying to do so. How he inspired such insipid loyalty was beyond Bishop—like-minded fools and their petty, stupid friendships seemed the basis for all the suicidal saviors that had protected Maxwell Noble up until this point. That bastard never lived through his own skill; some outside act saved him.

Isn't that the exact thing that happened to you?

Bishop growled mutely. Memories of a mini-nuke and a flash of lightning made his gut roll in fury. Now his heart hammered in rage, more than anything else.

Through it all, he kept up his smile. Always smile. It's creepy, and it affects them.

Branwen swept forward, scythe brandished. Even though Nikos's brow was scrunched in concentration and her hand shook, she still maintained the grip on his sword. Bishop calculated that he wouldn't be able to hold Rubra Mors and dodge Branwen, for the sword solidly tried to get away in the very direction his enemy was coming from.

He let go of the hilt and dodged back. Rubra Mors flew through the air overhead and impaled the cabin wall, where it stayed firmly lodged.

Bishop kept up his smile, but he wished he could put his helmet back on, so then the gas mask would conceal his face and he could let loose the feral sneer of anger and hate that boiled behind his eyes and in his heart and in his stomach, the fuel of wroth and contempt that frothed within him.

He shuddered with rage and frustration, a slight movement disguised only by the trundling train's shake. Every nerve ending on his body went haywire with the desperate need to act, to destroy, a primal wish to crush.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

A second to breathe calmed it slightly, helped him get a grip on the situation.

He, Arthur and the animal were unarmed; with Nikos there, Neo could easily be disarmed as well. But all they really needed to do was last long enough for the train to hit, and there was no doubt in in his mind that he could at least do that. Team JNPR stood fully armed and ready.

Unfair? Perhaps. For them.

Maxwell and his team huddled together, sizing up Bishop and his allies. There were ways to stall that didn't involve fighting, and this lull could be a good time for talk.

"Hello there," Bishop said. He forced his voice to be as calm and genial as it ever was, greeting them as if he were a fond old friend. No onlooker would suspect from his face or tone that fury incarnate raged within him. "I am Bishop Beauvais, son of the late President John Henry Eden, former Secret Service Agent and forever American patriot—"

"Shut up!" Maxwell screamed so loudly it ran his throat raw.

Bishop ignored it and kept talking (though his smile became somewhat more legitimate, made almost giddy by Maxwell's unhinged and panicked state). "I suppose you're Maxwell's new posse. Did he tell you what happened to the last fools who chose to follow him?"

Maxwell Noble shook; and his eyes were wide and feral, but he was utterly silent.

"I killed them," Bishop said. And his smile was wholly real, for he was proud to gut those two Regulator anarchists and behead the supermutant monster. Threats to humanity and America, and his patriotic duty to wipe them out was fulfilled.

He stared down Maxwell's new teammates, and the shock on their faces was exquisite.

"You've gotten a lot farther than you should have," he said. "But then, you haven't met Bishop Beauvais, either. Your ride's over. Time to die."

He feigned a step forward, stomping loudly to shock his foes into action. In kind, they immediately brandished their weapons, and a moment later, they were upon him.

Breathe deep.

The world slowed.

Hold.

The slight burning sensation behind his eyes intensified as Bishop's world became perfectly still. Branwen and team JNPR, Maxwell's new team under his new name. Cinder had told him that they were among the best in Beacon.

Time to humble.

Bishop analyzed their movements; he saw Nikos raise her spear; he saw Lie Ren brandished his knives; he saw Valkyrie wind back her hammer; he saw Branwen rear back his sword for a stab; he saw Maxwell rev Crocea Mors. He determined by the alignment of their eyes and hips just who they planned on attacking. He readied his aura and the right muscles as he planned out his response.

Release.

He sped forward at lightning speed, diving under Valkyrie's swing and hooking an arm up around hers. He pivoted and dodged a stab from Nikos, throwing Valkyrie into her as he did, sending them both flying. They slammed into the wall of the train so hard that it shuddered and dented; at the same time, he backed up and swatted down Lie Ren's guard, the tired huntsman's eyes widening at the great strength and speed of his foe, which had broken his block instantly. Then he stepped in to elbow Ren in the face, sending him straight to the ground.

He hopped to the side, where Branwen, heading for Neo, looked back at him, eyes wide. The man evidently hadn't thought his flank would be exposed almost instantly as the others crumpled, so Bishop jumped and kicked, hitting him right in the stomach. The strike made his aura flash and made the man grunt, as he flew to the side and hit Maxwell, forcing them both to collide into the wall and collapse in a heap.

In a second, Bishop had executed a perfect maneuver, every movement flowing together seamlessly. He was like a flowing river, rushing smooth and indomitably fast, wiping away everything in his path.

His smile widened.

It almost dropped when something smashed into his back.

He grit his teeth and whipped around just in time to see Nikos commanding her spear back to her, which she must have hurled with all her might at him. It was a good hit, taking a bit out of his aura, but he'd kept that on guard.

Just as aura multiples strength and speed, so too does it scale with resilience. Bishop had once been hit in the chest with a sledgehammer by a supermutant back in the wasteland. It would have shattered the sternum of a normal person and turned their inside to goo, but he'd gotten away with just a few cracked ribs.

His aura needed to exert much less defensively, since he didn't need it as much. His bones were naturally harder to break; his skin, harder to pierce. His aura needed to compensate little, and it was siphoned off at a much lower rate than just about any other's.

So Nikos's spear wouldn't even leave a bruise, and it had taken just a sliver of his aura to stop the point from piercing him. Much of the physical trauma, his body could already shrug off with no problem.

His smile widened.

He launched himself towards Nikos, who quickly raised her shield.

He lashed out and punched it dead center. She had readied a stance and prepared herself quickly for the hit. But even the champion's footing couldn't take his strength.

The shield dented before his fist and the great force behind it carried through and into her, once more launching her off her feet as she cried out in surprise. She slammed back into Valkyrie again and, again, they smashed into the wall and collapsed to the floor.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Branwen charge, swinging his sword wickedly fast.

Bishop was faster.

He ducked, letting the sword fly just over his head. Smoothly, he twisted on his feet and sprung back up, driving an uppercut straight into Branwen's solar plexus. He grunted as the air was forced out of him, and the powerful strike hurled him up and threw him into the cabin's roof. Bishop jumped back when he came down, getting beside Neo and Arthur.

The former looked at him, eyes wide with surprise. He'd moved as fast as she could, and he'd hit far, far harder.

They heard a shrill blast from the front of the train, its great siren blaring twice.

Damn it!

Bishop grit his teeth, but the siren's warning could not be ignored.

He, Neo and Arthur looked at each other. Then they crouched down and covered their heads.

Maxwell and his team grouped together again, weapons raised, looking curiously at the three. Realization came to them too late.

The train slammed into rock and rubble; suddenly, the world became nothing but a great cacophony of rending metal and crushing stone amidst a harsh, volatile darkness.

* * *

He had once before been covered in rubble, when a training mission went awry and a supermutant with a rocket launcher nearly ended 12-year-old Bishop's fledgling career as a special agent. That was the only time in his life he'd ever broken a bone; large amounts of cement tend to have that effect on the human body.

With aura, the experience was far less unpleasant.

With a grunt and a heave, he braced his back against a giant slab of cement that pinned him to the ground, then pressed like he was doing a push-up. The stone groaned and crumbled but, it rose. Then he got a knee under himself, then the other, and he propped his shoulder against the cement and pushed with his legs. He managed to fully stand, lifting the huge sheet of cement as he did so. He grit his teeth, for this was a bit much for even him.

He shoved his hands up against the cement and pushed up, driving it higher above himself, then he threw himself forward.

He hit the ground and rolled out the way as gravity sent the ton of cement crashing back down, where it cracked the asphalt of the road.

Bishop immediately scanned the area, took stock of the situation.

They were, as planned, in the middle of Vale's downtown square, surrounded by middle to higher-end shops. The nice part of town where tourists and residents alike got their expensive coffee and their glimmering jewelry. Also as planned, today was Saturday. The shops opened earlier and certain sales were on this one day of the week, meaning more people were out and about so early in the morning than would normally be the case.

Now all was far from normal.

Most of the shops had their windows broken, smashed in by flying debris, and many people were screaming and running. Some were bloodied as they fled. Some lay motionless, struck by shrapnel or the like.

Bishop ignored them and reach for something clasped to his waist.

He put on the Grimm mask, and it appeared to any onlooker that he was a member of the White Fang.

The guise sickened him, and an uncomfortable, obstinate shiver ran up his spine, knowing that people were confusing him for one of the animals. But this was part of the plan.

Then he jogged into the middle of the street and squinted, looking far down the road, a few blocks away. People ran desperately around him, and he heard the beginning roars of oncoming Grimm, but a paranoid part of himself demanded that he look and make sure. Relief came with confirmation.

Far down, a building had a large black banner draped above the entrance, with a stylized symbol gleaming upon it—a golden sun.

Bishops head snapped to the side, attracted by a cacophony of collapsing stone. A huge deathstalker forced its way up through the rubble, and a brand new wave of screaming came when the civilians saw it, streaming out through their boutiques and cafes and running as fast as they could as canis and beowolves and smaller Grimm clawed their way up out of the hole.

The original plan had called for a horde, a deluge of monsters that would cause great havoc before Atlas could intervene.

As it was, this was barely a crowd of the creatures. It was still sure to put terror into Vale, but—

God damn Maxwell Noble. Bishop's brief satisfaction withered in an instant and, just as instantaneously, a swell of fury flushed through him like fire charring his blood.

It had only been a few minutes since the crash, so he couldn't be far—

A horn blared, and Bishop turned to see a car racing down the road, its driver desperately pressing on the peddle to get away from the carnage.

Bishop braced himself.

The driver slammed on the brakes, but the car was still going fast when it collided with him. When it did so, the front grill crumpled like paper, and the dust-powered engine sputtered and flashed as his arms crushed it.

Bishop was pushed back, but his feet dug into the asphalt, cracking and shattering the road beneath him as he stood fast.

The car stopped dead before him, having taken a fairly insignificant piece of his braced aura. It might as well have hit a tree.

Bishop snarled under his mask, and it felt good to have his face back.

The driver of the car was obscured by the emergency airbag, but Bishop didn't care. In that moment, enough anger coursed in his veins that he didn't care at all if the person were human or faunus, if they were a potential supporter of the cause, or if they were a single mother of five or whatever. He couldn't care less. An internal rage drove him past a line, one to which he was always near. It was the kind of line-crossing that makes you punch a wall or throw a glass on the floor in rage—it was the kind of angry crossing of a threshold that makes you carelessly destroy something.

Bishop's sneer twisted. He bent down and hooked his hands underneath the front of the car, squatting down. Then he pumped his legs and rose, swinging his arms up as well.

The car flew into the air, and it did two full flips before crashing back down, smashing a beowolf as it landed. Bone, plate, glass and metal all went _crunch!_

It didn't make him feel any better; urgency breathed down his neck.

Then he heard something else. It was a decidedly unique sound in the chaos. There was screaming, roaring, tearing, crushing and all the other usual tones of mayhem with which Bishop was well familiar by now. But there was also the sound of engines above.

He looked up and saw a bullhead. It came down slowly until it hovered a few yards above the ground. His eyes narrowed.

His forced evolution gave him eyesight between a human and a falcon. He zoned in easily and picked out the four girls who dropped down far on the other side of the square.

Team RWBY. The particularly skilled group from Beacon that had destroyed the primary stolen Paladin and helped foil their stint at the docks. As Cinder had informed him, they were also good friends of Maxwell.

His scowl deepened.

But he was keenly aware of an uncomfortable lack of a specific weight. At his side was an empty scabbard. Somewhere here, Rubra Mors was alone and abandoned.

Compounding that, he needed to reconvene with Arthur and Neo to escape. He also needed to kill Maxwell.

The clock was ticking, and he had even less time than originally planned, given Maxwell and his team had apparently managed to defuse some of their bombs. He always found a way to interfere with plans, to ruin things, like a swarm of rats hiding in the basement, chewing at pipes and foundation with their rotten, diseased little teeth and tearing the whole house out from under itself.

Time for extermination.

He pulled out his scroll and switched to a tracker function. This was specifically linked to the high-powered bug he'd embedded in Rubra Mors's hilt. It took a few seconds for the signal to connect, during which he developed an intense urge to crush his scroll for taking too long.

When the tracker locked on, he ran. The spare Grimm crawled up and out of the hole they'd formed and quickly ran off into the streets, though a look over his shoulder showed that the four huntresses were doing a decent job of stopping them.

Anger fired up inside him.

The entire plan relied on nearby Atlas intervening to put down the incursion, so if these four were able—

A gargantuan snake with black and white scales slithered up through the hole they formed and bore its massive fangs, each nearly as long as an average person was tall.

Alright, the plan was still mostly intact.

Bishop turned back and rushed ahead, dodging the odd Grimm to get towards his sword. He glanced back across the courtyard and saw that the girls had split off. Ruby Rose, whom Cinder had said was an especially close friend to Maxwell, jumped up onto the roof and sniped at smaller Grimm trying to get down an alley, while the heiress and the faunus leapt to engage the snake. Where the blonde one was—

"Hey there pal!" shouted a female voice ahead of him. "Did you do this?"

Bishop's stared down the girl ahead of him. Hands on her hips, she stood triumphant atop a dead ursa, already starting to fizzle out beneath her. She wore a stupid grin on her face, the one worn in battle by those who didn't know war.

This would be quick.

Bishop stashed his scroll in his pocket and rushed forward. The girl's smile widened and she jumped down to meet him. However, he diverted, stopping and suddenly running a perpendicular direction; he even stumbled a bit as he did, making himself look panicked in his suddenness.

He ran, and she laughed and followed, shooting off a few shotgun shells to propel her momentum, as he led her around a particularly large piece of rubble, a pile of stone ground up by a smoldering piece of the train. He ducked behind it, and she followed, and they were both out of view of her teammates.

Instantly, he on her.

Her eyes widened from the sudden move and great speed with which he shot at her, and it clicked in her head that this wasn't the usual White Fang trash.

She was the first to punch, thrusting and lashing out a fist into a vicious jab with enough power to eclipse even that of a supermutant.

Bishop caught it with one hand.

His palm stung from the impact, but he'd prepared his aura for the move. He gripped onto her fist, and her knuckles slackened beneath his crushing grip, and her gauntlet bent and cracked.

He dragged her in and punched her in face simultaneously, the power behind his fist outmatching the force of the car that had run into him earlier.

Her head snapped back, and her entire body would have flown if he didn't have a grip on her. He immediately took the opening to smash more punches into her midrift—

Fire exploded out from her, surprising enough to make him let go and jump back.

Stupid damn semblances.

The girl stumbled for a moment but kept her footing, then glared back at him. Her face was red from where he'd punched, and there would likely be a bruise even through her aura. But her eyes were red, and her hair was on fire, and a nasty snarl crossed her face.

A renewed sense of hate twisted in him, coiled and tightened like a snake trying to strangle itself. An ugly, angry kind of contempt, because this bitch was slowing him down and in his way.

You die.

Bishop rushed in, unconcerned with the flame for his suit was fire-retardant, and even then, his exposed head had enough aura and natural toughness to be little affected.

She yelled and threw her right hand forward, trying to fire a shell. However, he'd jammed it by catching and crushing it. When she realized, she hopped back and fired at him with her left hand.

Moving like a blur, he dodged the shots and threw himself forward again. He ducked and slid to the side, reaching out and snatching a long strand of her hair as he went.

He'd looked over her rather basic stance and the limited style he'd seen and quickly deduced an optimum way to take care of her. No need to waste his semblance on someone so benign as this. Especially not when she had such a ridiculous haircut to help him.

"Let go of my hair!" she screamed at him, winding back another punch.

As if. It was easily the best tactical advantage he had in the fight, even if it was as hot as red embers. He sidestepped and yanked back on her hair with great strength, bringing her off-balance. He rushed in and dodged another flimsy punch from her, then stepped behind her and grabbed another clump of hair. He pulled back and turned her around, pretty thoroughly tangling her in her own hair.

She looked at him furiously, but as she tried to punch forward, he yanked her hair to the side, dragging her off-balance. That let him let go and reach out.

He clutched her left wristed in both hands, then hauled back. He flipped her up into the air then brought her crashing back to the ground, where she fractured the brick pavement of the square. Immediately, she tried to squirm out of her grip, twisting and pulling back. But as strong as she was, Bishop was stronger.

He changed his footing, twisted and pulled as he pivoted on his feet and wrenched her hand up at an odd angle with all his power.

 _Crack!_

Her aura put up a tough resistance, but his sudden and indomitable strength broke her wrist.

She cried out, and he stepped back, hauling her up to her feet while still holding onto her broken wrist in one hand. He got around to her side and jammed a punch into her ribs, right where the liver was.

She gasped and shook, wobbling on her feet from the strike.

The fever of battle made Bishop smile—

"Rah!" She suddenly screamed and another burst of fire consumed them both. Bishop stepped back, allowing her to twist and send a punch straight into his gut.

He fell, out of breath, eyes wide with surprise.

Her hit was just as strong as anything he could muster, and it drove all the air out of him. He gasped and breathed for a moment while the girl shakily stood on her feet.

A fresh snarl came upon his face. This bitch was putting up more a fight than she had any right too. Whatever asinine semblance or desperate expulsion of aura allowed her to get a hit on him like that, he didn't know, but he could feel his own aura dipping down, probably mid green.

He rolled and threw himself back up to his feet.

She instinctively tried to fire off a shot at him, but her one working wrist-gun happened to be strapped to her now broken wrist, and she screamed as the shot went wide and horrific pain shot into her.

Bishop rushed forward, dodging around her side and once more grabbing hold of her hair before she could get away. He wrenched her back, off balance again, then elbowed her in the side. He let go of her hair and got a grip on her good arm. He threw her over his shoulder, and she slammed to the ground; he twisted again and pulled her whole arm back at an odd angle.

 _Pop!_

Her shoulder was wrenched free of its socket, and the girl screamed in pain. But her desperate yell was lost amidst the roar of Grimm, the shouting of civilians and the firing of guns.

He pushed her to the ground, straddled her, and wrapped his hands around her throat, cutting off the screaming completely.

For a second, she looked at him defiantly. Vicious crimson eyes stared up into his own, filled with hate. But that was just a second or so.

His hands squeezed, and he unleashed the full force of his rage on her then, pressing so hard that her eyes instantly widened. She thrashed desperately, but with both arms practically out of commission and him solidly pinning her—she was doomed.

They both knew that. The look in her eyes quickly became panicked, pathetic; she choked and spluttered, desperate for breath.

Bishop started to chuckle. How could he resist the bubbling of joy inside of him? If Maxwell were murdering one of his allies, then the degenerate would surely be laughing maniacally. Who's to say you can never enjoy your work?

"So pathetic in so many ways," Bishop said, smile widening as he taunted. "Without your ridiculous hair, you may have survived a minute more. Thanks for making it easier, fool."

He pressed harder, and her scared eyes rolled back in their sockets—

A red glow shown above them.

Bishop's fast reflexes were all that kept him from getting slashed in the head by a long red blade. He let go of the blond and jumped back, evading the slash by a sliver of an inch.

He backed away as the new figure jumped down, protectively standing over the girl who just barely escaped death, now coughing and wheezing on the ground, face pale and sweaty.

Bishop recognized the woman. How could he not? She was distinctive, with the Grimm bird mask and the sword and the semblance of a red portal. Raven Branwen.

He'd pieced together some basic knowledge of her from the rumors, reports and sightings that a man in his business was constantly surveying. A woman with a reputation so fearsome and far spanning that just about any criminal or mercenary of high caliber knew of her and her clan.

If the talk was valid, then Bishop was facing one of the few people on Remnant who could fight him.

"She gets to live," Raven said, voice gravelly and deep through the mask. "I don't care what you do otherwise. Go kill someone else—it doesn't matter to me." Raven paused and looked down at the girl, then looked back to Bishop. "But she gets to live this day."

Damn it.

Even if he was armed, Bishop knew fighting her would be a longer, harder battle than he had the time for. He was certain the police, hunters and Atlas were scrambling and converging on the location. Meanwhile, he still needed to find Rubra Mors and kill Maxwell.

As much as he desired to kill her, Bishop forced himself to take a step back. The woman made no move to attack him, but she did crouch back into a defensive stance.

He took another step away. Then another.

She didn't move.

Bishop turned and ran. He looked over his shoulder, but the woman simply turned and grabbed the girl by her good shoulder, then pulled her away.

Fine then. Back to work.

Bishop pulled out his scroll and locked on again to the location of Rubra Mors—

"Stop!"

Oh god damn it!

Bishop bit down his anger and looked up, seeing the Schnee and the faunus before him. Looking back, he saw the dissolving corpse of the giant snake not too far away.

"Where's Yang?" the Schnee said. "Our partner, the annoying blonde?"

Bishop looked back, but he didn't see Raven or the girl. She must have dragged her off or teleported completely away.

He wasted no more time on talk; he raised his fists.

Breathe deep. Hold.

Time stopped, and the slight pain behind his eyes intensified. He observed them, their stances, their muscles and their positions. He prepared himself.

Release.

A few minutes later, and it was over.

"Gah!" The Schnee cried out as he threw her away, and she landed on top of her filthy faunus companion, who'd just been trying to get back to her feet.

Bishop looked down at his hand. The tattered remnants of the faunus's ribbon were still wrapped around his wrists; he easily snapped them when she'd tried to tie him up (as strong as they may be, woven with dust). But he also held the Schnee girl's rapier, a fine and deadly piece of equipment, which he snatched from her grasp after barreling through her companion's dust-infused clones.

Bishop grabbed the rapier's blade in two hands, then bent it.

"Myrtenaster!" the Schnee yelled, looking in horror as he dropped her ruined weapon to the ground, now twisted at a right angle.

The faunus beside her struggled to stand, gripping onto the Schnee's skirt to help haul herself up. She spat out a mix of saliva and blood. Nevertheless, she glared at him with dirty, defiant, animal eyes. Like a stupid creature backed in a corner. She raised her sword in the air and readied her stance—

"Blake!" The Schnee yelled at her partner and grabbed the girl by the arm. "He's too much! Let's get out of here!"

"But—"

"There's no way!" The heiress said, tugging the faunus back and away from him. "Our corpses will be food for the Grimm if we keep this up! Let's get to the others!"

The faunus looked between her and Bishop, only to realize that the latter was already running away.

He didn't want to waste even more time on that trash. He couldn't afford it. Not with the situation already as strapped as it was. Even now, he saw bullheads further in the sky, and he heard sirens, and he heard more gunshots.

He glanced down the street and saw two hunters guarding a large road from Grimm. He squinted, and his enhanced sight picked out that each wore two armbands. Black cloth with a single stylized golden sun upon them. Both wore dark green shirts.

Good. The plan was still potent.

Looking over his shoulder, he saw that the two girls were running away; evidently, the Schnee's reason had prevailed. Better for him, as he could finally draw his scroll again. A quick check showed his aura was still green (the worst tax thus far on his aura had come from the train crash itself), and then he locked onto Rubra Mors's location yet again.

A few ursa tried to stop him, but just as many punches to the skull ended them. Their faceplates cracked and shattered before his fists, which promptly mulched their brains. None of the Grimm here proved a match to him. His blood ran hot as he hunted for his goal.

There it is.

Rubra Mors, imbedded point-down into the ground. The blade seemed to be waiting for him dutifully, like a soldier standing at attention. He pocketed his scroll and reached out.

His fingers grasped the hilt, and an invisible weight that had clung to him suddenly evaporated. The familiar handle settled in his palms as he wrenched the weapon up into the air. He couldn't help but smile, reunited.

"Damn it!"

He cut to attention, immediately brining his gaze to the source of the voice he now recognized. Qrow Branwen, a man of fierce repute, if one eclipsed by his sister's. He was fighting Neo and Art (the latter of whom had armed himself with a street sign he'd torn out of the ground).

He'd been beside the others. Where are they.

He saw something move out the wrecked train cabin.

Bishop's eyes narrowed, and his muscles suddenly twitched and trembled; in his hand, Rubra Mors shuddered as well, perhaps because of his shaky grip, but one wouldn't be too wrong to say that the evil sword had a mind like its master.

There they are.

Bishop ran for them. He saw them. His eyes blazed like two coals burning quietly in a dead fire, still scorching at the touch.

Valkyrie used her hammer like a cane, herself limping. The others were evidently battered but still standing. For now.

Bishop ducked and tore a large brick out of the ground as he sprinted across the square. He formed a plan, and he executed it.

Breathe deep. Hold. Release.

In barely a second, he'd wound his hand back, focused in on Nikos's head, prepared his stance, considered positioning and then thrown—all while ignoring the growing pain behind his eyes.

The brick ripped through the air; if it were more aerodynamic, it may have broken the sound barrier by the time it collided with Nikos's skull.

The brick's velocity would have turned a normal human's head into a red spray, but the champion's strength and aura negated such a dramatic consequence. Instead, it whipped her aside, flipped her and left her crashing onto the ground, unconscious.

Maxwell looked to her, then to him, horrified. The expression on his face fueled Bishop with additional energy, drove his muscles to pump even harder as he rushed forward, Rubra Mors aloft.

"Run!" Maxwell screamed to his team. "Take her and run! He wants me!"

"Can it!" Valkyrie said, brandishing her hammer and charging to meet Bishop head on.

He pivoted on a dime and swiped Rubra Mors up, crashing the blade into her hammer's shaft and opening her guard. He pivoted again and jammed a short punch into her side; her weak aura buckled, and her ribs cracked.

"Ah!" She screamed weakly as his punch broke her bones and flung her aside, where she was haphazardly caught by Lie Ren.

"Run idiot!" Maxwell screamed, voice run coarse and desperate. "Get away—"

He was cut off as Bishop came down upon him again. The bastard didn't even have time to rev Crocea Mors before Bishop brought down the sister sword, careening for his head. He sloppily tried to block the strike, but he utterly failed to contest Bishop's strength, and the attack followed through, bashing the chainsword's teeth into Maxwell own face and flinging him away.

Bishop glanced back, and he smiled when he saw Maxwell's teammates doggedly rush for their fallen comrade. The two had an odd grey coloring to them, but Bishop instantly dismissed it as a trick of the light. Valkyrie had tears rolling down her face, presumably because she'd realized the only hope for survival was abandoning her leader.

Good. _So_ good. As much as he would love to torture and kill Maxwell's new friends before his eyes, time was already winding down, and he was too dangerous to leave alive any longer.

Bishop smiled a wide, manic, brutal and ugly smile hidden by his mask, a wild counterpart to the usual fake, genial grin he put on. Then he rounded on Maxwell.

Each strike was relentless, and his foe barely had the ability to deflect or doge each one as he back peddled, tripping and stumbling away for dear life.

Bishop began to laugh. He laughed a loud, crazed laugh. His head felt light, airy, almost as if he'd been narcotized. A rush went through his pumping heart as a furious kind of joy came upon him, the happiness of rage fulfilled.

Maxwell had withstood for barely a minute when Bishop pulled one of his slashes and side-stepped instead; then he kicked the side of Maxwell's knee.

 _Crack!_

His leg snapped and bent aside at the knee, broken by the superhuman kick and the lack of any more aura to withstand it. Maxwell struggled to contain a scream as he collapsed to the ground.

Bishop stood triumphant, elation in his heart. He felt light and high, as if some ethereal force had its hands on him, pulling him upwards to the heavens.

But defeated as he was, Maxwell didn't writhe, didn't recoil in terror, didn't beg—not that Bishop had expected it. He knew by now the ways in which this scum was strong.

"As long as they live," Maxwell mumbled.

Bishop glanced away and saw his team running, carrying Nikos between them, rushing in the direction of flashing red and blue lights. He sneered and looked back down at his prized prey.

"As long as you die," Bishop said, raising Rubra Mors in the air.

His heart beat so fast, it felt like it was smashing itself into mushy pulp within his chest. His skin bristled and shivered. Fury and happiness mingled as he brought the sword down—

A red blur cut by, struck the sword and sent him to the side, saving Maxwell's life by a mere moment. It caught him off-balance, and he stumbled several feet away.

Surprise shocked him, and he immediately backed up, raising his sword to meet the new threat. He saw it, recognized it, sneered at it.

The acute sense of rage that filled him when Ruby Rose looked back at him—he was filled with the total desire to kill her and make it cruel.

Maxwell was always saved by the barest margins, by the idiots he managed to cultivate around him; it couldn't happen again.

Bishop charged the girl, who stood protectively above Maxwell. He begged her to run, but she was deaf to such demands. Instead, she swiped her scythe at him.

Bishop easily deflected it with a flick of his wrist.

She reacted quickly, however, adjusting to his surprisingly strong hit and spinning around. She shifted her scythe as she did so, forming into more a rifle shape. Then she opened fire.

Bishop was hit square in the chest and driven back, but he furiously swiped his sword to cut down every new shot that the girl sent. Maxwell feebly dragged himself away, jaw tightly bit down, holding in the pain.

Bishop rushed forward, and the girl met him. Her scythe moved wickedly fast, almost too fast to see. But he kept track without difficulty, matching each strike by her and cutting back on her defense. He snaked his sword through her guard and lashed at her arms and chest, forcing her to yelp and wince. Her arms shook every time she tried to deflect each slash, so strong was he. Immediately, she was on the defensive, and she must have known she was outmatched.

That didn't stop her.

Instead, she broke away and leapt back. Flipping through the air, she reached one hand into a pouch on her belt and pulled out a single dust round.

Bishop dashed for Maxwell again; the girl feverishly loaded her rifle; he raised his sword; the girl fired; Bishop blocked her shot—

And then began to float.

The sense of weightlessness overwhelmed immediately, and the power of the gravity dust stalled his advance and instead sent him slowly, harmlessly, floating up into the air.

He seethed. Breathing heavily from sheer rage rather than exertion, he was practically frothing at the mouth behind his mask; the bitch was ruining everything.

She reloaded with normal rounds and shot at him. He blocked each one easily, but his weightlessness meant that each hit still transferred full momentum into him and sent him flying backwards.

By the time the gravity dust wore off and he was back on the ground, he'd strayed twenty feet away. He trembled with rage. He'd been so close. He'd been so, so close, and this bitch—

She fired her rifle behind her as she kicked off, and she instantly became a red blur. A boom rang as she broke the sound barrier and came for him.

Bishop deflected her strike, though the sheer velocity she held nearly put him off-balance.

The girl landed behind him and twirled to face him. She held a fierce scowl on her face, a mean look of determination.

If he hadn't been wearing a mask, Bishop's animalistic snarl would have clearly eclipsed her expression in sheer viciousness and rage.

She wound her rifle back again, fired, kicked off, broke the sound barrier—

Breathe deep. Hold.

Time slowed.

It didn't come quite to a complete stop; Bishop was too angry to focus so acutely now. But he managed to get a bit of a grip on himself, enough to check the surroundings during the moment. Rose hurtled towards him as slowly as a turtle, and the rest of the world was barely as fast a snail. He saw police lights in the distance and bullheads nearing. He saw Atlas escort ships further off coming from the main fleet. The event horizon was nearing, and he had to act.

He observed Rose's posture, her muscles, the way she held her scythe, her positioning, the direction of her hips and even zero'd in on where her eyes were pointed. He did this as he ignored the pain in his head; it now felt like smoldering matches had been lit inside his skull and were pressed against the backs of his eye sockets, and they became hotter with each moment, fire spitting and flaring.

It didn't take him long, however, to deduce exactly where she was going to swing, and how he could capitalize on it. He'd immediately picked up on her style, fast and loose, effective but with lethal openings that could end it all in a moment if the strike was precise enough, fast enough, strong enough.

Release.

Thus prepared, he snapped his body into a position almost immediately, and he braced Rubra Mors at the perfect angle.

Just as instantaneously, Rose swept in and swung for him. She missed. Barely, but she missed.

Bishop did not.

Her incredible velocity collided directly with his swing. Her aura wasn't low, but in this vicious crash against the razor-sharp duraframe edge, something had to give.

Rubra Mors does not give.

"Gah!" She flew by him, immediately smashing down to the ground and tumbling over herself, cape flapping pathetically around her. She only came to a stop when she collided with Maxwell on the ground. A trail of blood led to them both.

Bishop heard her scream. He saw the blood. He saw the horrified look on Maxwell's face.

He laughed. A tumultuous, victorious fury frothed inside him, and he laughed in the moment of enraged, joyous triumph.

Bishop ran forward again, flicking the trigger at Rubra Mors's cross guard. The blade came alive with cruel, red flames that flashed and shuddered in perfect imitation of its master's rage.

He was upon them both in a moment, sword raised. As he brought it down, the girl turned to him with desperate, terrified eyes.

Eyes that glowed silver.

"No!" she screamed, her voice ragged and piercing.

Bishop saw a flash of white.

* * *

Jaune couldn't cry. He wouldn't let himself. He had to be strong for her.

"It'll be okay," he said, but his voice was hoarse, quiet and shaky. He doubted it comforted her.

She trembled in his arms, eyes wide and staring into the distance, looking into nothing. She took shallow, rapid breaths and whimpered. Sweat covered her pallid face.

He cradled her gently while doing his best to ignore the horrific sensation from his leg, awful pain numbed and warped by adrenaline.

Around them in the square, Atlas robots began landing from their transport craft and gunning down the Grimm, while reinforcements finally arrived from Beacon to start clearing up what was left.

His two stimpaks weighed heavy in his jacket, but he knew no number of stimpaks would fix what had happened to her, and as awful as it was, it wouldn't be fatal. He'd instead torn off part of his jacket and made a tourniquet on her arm, and now he clamped down and applied pressure to the wound, stemming the bleeding with his sleeve. He didn't dare look at it more. He'd had to swallow a mouthful of his own vomit after seeing it, his own rancid horror and panic making him sick.

Whatever Ruby had done, it had saved their lives. Bishop had been blown far away, and only now was shakily getting to his feet. However, he collapsed to his knees several times, too weak to stand. By pressing the tip of Rubra Mors against the ground, he was able to finally force himself to his feet; but even then, he seemed drained of just about all his strength, swaying uncertainly, as if his body was deciding whether or not it was strong enough not to crumple to the ground.

Then the other one, whom Jaune guessed to be Arthur, Bishop's right-hand man, came to his side along with Neo. She grabbed onto both of them, and then they shattered into fractals of glass, which faded away and dissolved as they fell to the ground. Nothing was left behind.

He heard a growl from behind him.

Oh no…

He turned and saw a huge beowolf. The monster's crimson, bloody eyes bore into him. Its jagged fangs were covered with dripping saliva. Its maw creaked open—

A flash of steel, and its head dropped to the ground.

"Jaune? Ruby!?" Qrow stood above them, scythe in hand. His face was bruised, and his clothes were torn, cut and even singed in parts. But he still stood, burdened more by concern than pain. "What the hell… oh gods..."

Jaune bit back tears as Qrow saw exactly what Bishop had done:

He'd cut off her hand.

* * *

 **Big oof. Sorry Yang but little sis is stealing your role. Bet Weiss wishes she'd given Ruby that high-five now, huh? Ah, all's well that ends well, right? Everybody's alive, so I'm sure this will have no negative consequences, right?**

 **Right?**

 **And if Bishop came off as too op—he's supposed to be. I came up with Bishop while reading other fics where the protagonist is an overpowered oc from fallout who comes into Remnant and whoops ass easily. I got bored and frustrated reading those, and I just wished the authors would put in at least one character to be like a foil to the mc, someone who was strong enough to actually contest them. That's actually where the idea for this whole fic first came from, me being dissatisfied with others I read and wanting to make my own version with a powerful villain like that. I decided to take the initial concept even further by making the op oc, Bishop, the primary** _ **antagonist**_ **instead of the protagonist. So aside from serving as a way to change the story of RWBY and bring in the Enclave, Bishop is also a subversion of an all too common trope. I think it makes things much more interesting, as the mc really has to fenagle a solution.**

 **Jaune is similar to that, actually. I wanted to subvert the infamous fanfic trope of the edgelord oc. I wanted to show just how hurtful and toxic that sort of edgelordyness is and how it has to be overcome. That's why Yang and Qrow have openly mocked Jaune's older self by straight up calling him an edgelord and why Jaune has renounced that part of himself.**

 **I also hope you liked seeing Bishop's perspective. He's more than just a weird guy who's always smiling. We'll get to see more from his pov soon that will flesh him out further. And yeah, his semblance is essentially vats from in-game. I couldn't figure out what to make it for a while, before I eventually figured that this was pretty perfect. Aside from that, his power level is way up there, on par with the maidens, Orion and the highest level hunters in Remnant. Jaune will have to get some allies to deal with this…**


End file.
